


love is home to all of us

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Big Time Adolescence (2020)
Genre: Acceptance, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apologies, Barebacking, Developing Relationship, Discussion of Mental Illnesses, Discussions of death, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Forgiveness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Personal Growth, Phone Sex, Post-Movie, References to Past Drug Use, Sobriety, handjobs, meet the parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Mo brings Zeke home to meet his family, again.
Relationships: Monroe "Mo" Harris/Zeke Presanti
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	love is home to all of us

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to this beast of a fic that i cranked out in approx 3.5 days of constant, furious writing. originally I was like, "oh, maybe this will be like 10k." clearly, that's not what happened. 
> 
> this fic is CHOCK full of headcanons for what I think mo and zeke's life post-move (and post-college/post-reconciliation) would be like, including the harris family reactions and what zeke is doing with his life and just, all of it. i poured a lot of frantic love into this, and i hope y'all enjoy it as much as i do! 
> 
> big thanks to hannah for beta'ing as always, and of course to the mo/zeke server for constant support, haha.
> 
> enjoy!!

“I don’t think I can do this,” Zeke says. 

“We are literally standing on the doorstep,” Mo replies with a long-suffering look at his boyfriend. They are, in fact, standing on the doorstep to his childhood home. His parents are waiting on the other side of the door. They are probably listening to this conversation. “You can’t bail now, dude.”

“I’m not bailing,” Zeke snaps. He lets go of Mo’s hand and wipes his palms on his jeans. He’s wearing his nicest pair—no holes, no excessive wear or tear, a professional dark wash. They go nicely with the baby blue, soft cotton tee Zeke’s wearing over a grey long-sleeve shirt. 

Mo had told him it didn’t really matter—either his parents would accept his and Zeke’s relationship, or they wouldn’t. Nice jeans or covering his tattoos weren’t going to tip the scales. But Zeke had insisted, and now here they are, with Zeke wiping his sweaty hands on said jeans. 

“It’ll be fine,” Mo insists, even though he’s not quite sure. 

He’d known from the moment he and Zeke reconnected that reintroducing the man into his life would be difficult, and that task only grew more daunting when they started dating. But Mo is open with his family, now. After the shitshow that was his sophomore year, he made a promise to stop hiding things. He’d come out to his parents as soon as he was ready, he’d told them every time he flunked a class at college, he’d called them when he got too drunk and needed someone to talk to while he waited for his ride. 

No secrets, and that includes Zeke. It _especially_ includes Zeke. Sure, he didn’t tell his parents _who_ he was dating, but he at least told them he’s got a boyfriend. He tells them about the dates and the good times. He’s just strategically avoided mentioning his boyfriend’s name. 

“I’m not bailing,” Zeke says again, “I’m just fucking terrified.”

“I know,” Mo says, voice softer. “I’m scared too, y’know.”

Zeke finally looks at him. His pupils are dilated and he’s got a faint sweat beading along his brow. “Really?”

“Yeah, man.” Mo hasn’t really said as much before this, because he’s been trying to be supportive, caring and considerate of Zeke’s fear of seeing Reuben and Sherri again. Maybe it would’ve helped to mention sooner, but, oh well. “I want my parents to like my boyfriend, cuz my boyfriend is pretty fucking awesome.”

Zeke breaks into a hesitant smile. “Yeah?”

Mo sways into Zeke’s personal bubble and bumps his shoulder against Zeke’s. “Yeah,” he agrees. “He’s kind of a dick sometimes, but I like him a lot.”

Zeke laughs. “Alright, sweet talker.” Zeke glances at the door again, then after a moment he leans in and steals a kiss from Mo. It’s gentle and brief, and the second it’s over, the front door opens. 

Reuben stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, as intimidating as ever. “Monroe,” he says, drawling, “Zeke.” 

“Hey dad,” Mo says as brightly as he can. His hand finds Zeke’s again and he barely avoids wincing at the clammy skin against his own.

“Hello, sir,” Zeke says, short and stilted. His brown hair is starting to stick to his forehead from his panic sweating; Mo should’ve told him to get it cut before they made the trip home. “It’s been a while.”

Reuben raises one eyebrow and Mo is equal parts amused and humiliated. “It has,” he agrees.

Sherri appears over his shoulder, all smiles. “Mo!” She exclaims. She pushes past her husband to gather her son in her arms. “I’ve missed you, sweetie!”

Mo lets go of Zeke’s hand to hug his mom back. “I missed you too.”

“And Zeke!” His mom says, just as brightly. She doesn’t pull him in for a hug but she does put her hand out for a shake. In that moment, Mo’s never loved his mom more. No questions, no judgement. 

Zeke shakes his mother’s hand with an awkward smile. “Mrs. Harris, good to see you.”

“Oh, please, call me Sherri,” she says with a wave of her free hand. “C’mon boys, let’s get you inside! Pass me a suitcase.” 

Mo passes her his laptop case and hefts his own backpack off the porch with a quiet grunt. As he adjusts the bag on his back, he watches his dad stare Zeke down. Zeke’s got three bags—he can definitely carry them all on his own, but the polite thing to do would be for Reuben to offer to take one. The silence stretches, on and on, until Reuben’s arms eventually uncross and he holds out one hand. 

Zeke passes him the lightest bag, the one full of their shared toiletries, and Reuben turns and walks back into the house without another word. “Thanks,” Zeke says after him. He speaks so quietly, it’s hit or miss whether Reuben actually hears him. 

“It’s okay,” Mo says as he gestures Zeke into the house. “This is already going way better than the worst-case scenario I dreamed up.” 

Zeke laughs softly. “One step up from as bad as possible, love that.” He wanders into the house and Mo takes up the rear, gently kicking the door shut behind them. “If your dad kills me, do you promise to avenge my death?” Zeke stops in the hallway to look back at Mo.

“Depends on what that entails. Do I have to smite my own father, in revenge?” 

“Nah, that’s fucked up. But maybe like, go on a vigilante crime spree in my honor?”

“Sure,” Mo agrees, nodding, “I can do that.”

“Fucking sweet.” Zeke turns and moves a little further into the house. “Same room, still?” 

“Yep,” Mo says as he tilts his head toward the stairwell. 

“You boys drop your stuff off in the bedroom, and come back downstairs so we can get started on dinner!” Sherri says as she comes back down the stairs, hands free. “We just put new sheets on the bed.”

“Wait,” Zeke asks as Sherri passes them on her way to the kitchen, “are we sharing your old little twin bed?” 

Sherri’s laughter carries from the kitchen. “Oh, no! We replaced Mo’s bed after his freshman year of college, when he had his growth spurt.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Zeke mutters. “I knew you got tall, but I don’t think I realized just _how_ tall.”

“Well yeah, you’re still taller than me, asshole.” Mo kicks playfully at Zeke’s heels. “C’mon, this shit is heavy, I wanna put it down.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Zeke takes the stairs two at a time because his legs are stupid long and he’s a freak. Mo follows a few steps behind. As they hit the second floor, Reuben steps out of Mo’s old childhood bedroom. “Sir,” Zeke says immediately.

Mo rolls his eyes. For a split second, he thinks he might see a smile flit across his dad’s face.

“Boys,” he says, even though Zeke is pushing thirty and Mo’s just finished his bachelor’s degree. 

“Dad,” Mo chides. “Can you save the intimidation game till after dinner, maybe?”

His dad glances at him. He doesn’t say anything, and his face gives nothing away. His arms aren’t crossed, but he still looks pretty intimidating—especially to Zeke, Mo’s sure. “Be down in ten,” Reuben says eventually, before slipping around them both to head back downstairs. 

“Roger that,” Mo says with another roll of his eyes. He moves beyond Zeke to the bedroom door.

His room isn’t some time capsule to his childhood and pubescence. The bed, like his mom said, has been different for years. Just a queen, and a tight one at that, but bigger all the same. His closet is mostly barren except for the excess things his parents shove in there and a couple older, sentimental things of Mo’s. His desk is cleared of his old computer, although it’s still covered in the myriad of stickers and decals he got senior year. 

“Y’know,” Zeke says as he drops the suitcase and his own backpack at the foot of the bed, “I always thought your bedroom was sick.”

“You were barely ever in here.” Mo shrugs off his own backpack and drops it into the chair at his desk. It’s true—Mo’s place wasn’t exactly the hot spot to hang out, with his parents around. They always hung out at the parking lot, or the mall, or Zeke’s place. 

“I know, but it’s still a sick room. Way nicer than the room I had in high school.” Zeke shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, just brings me back, is all.” Soft footsteps on the carpeted floor are the only warning Mo gets before arms slide around his waist. He leans against Zeke with a small, private smile. “Hey, you ever get laid in here?”

Mo barks out a laugh. For all the ways Zeke has changed, there are so many ways he’s stayed exactly the same. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t have sex again until the end of my freshman year of college.”

“Wait, really?” Zeke leans back and spins Mo around in his arms. “You’re telling me you didn’t get laid for the _rest_ of high school?” 

Mo shrugs one shoulder. “It wasn’t really on my mind. Throw in a big bisexual crisis my senior year, and it was kind of the last thing on my to-do list.” 

Zeke shakes his head. “That’s wack, man, a bedroom like this deserves to be christened.” 

Mo rolls his eyes. “What a shame.” He reaches for Zeke’s hands and tangles their fingers. “We should probably get back downstairs.” He says it a little hesitantly. Partly because he doesn’t want to leave this safe space he has with Zeke, and partly because he knows Zeke doesn’t want to leave, either. 

An expression flits across Zeke’s face that Mo has come to know as the “I have a dumb comment and I’m filtering it because I love you,” expression. He appreciates it, although he’s a little curious. Zeke eventually nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Mo can’t help but lean in and kiss Zeke—not like the kiss on the porch, either. He presses into the kiss a little harder, parts his lips slightly and sighs as Zeke’s tongue slips into his mouth. A thrill races down his spine, like it always does, at the feeling of Zeke’s lips against his. Mo winds his arms around Zeke’s shoulders and tilts his head, relishing the heat of Zeke’s body against his.

“Now I gotta go see your parents while sporting a half chub, thanks, babe,” Zeke murmurs against Mo’s mouth when the kiss breaks. 

Mo laughs and pushes Zeke away. “Go chill out in the bathroom for five minutes, I’ll stall.”

Zeke salutes and hurries out of the bedroom; there’s a gentle thud as the door down the hall falls shut, and Mo slips out of his bedroom and back downstairs. 

“Where’s Zeke?” His dad asks as soon as Mo walks into the kitchen.

“Peeing,” Mo replies, “jeez dad.” 

Reuben, to his credit, looks at least a little ashamed. “C’mere,” he says, an arm extended for Mo. Mo hugs his dad, holds on tight for a moment, before he pulls away. “Look, Mo.”

“I like him, dad.” Mo interrupts confidently. Sure. He knew this conversation would have to happen and he knows he only has a minute or two before Zeke joins them in the kitchen. “You don’t have to remind me of what happened. We’ve talked about it, at length. We’ve been dating for a year. He’s been sober for three years. He’s different, now. And all I’m asking is that you give him a chance to show you that.”

His dad’s mouth hangs slightly ajar, and Mo can’t help but feel a little proud. Over his dad’s shoulder, his mom shoots him a grin. Mo returns it. 

Zeke wanders in at that moment and he’s at Mo’s side almost immediately, one hand finding Mo’s. “What’s the haps?” Zeke asks. To his mom and probably to his dad, Zeke likely sounds totally chill. But Mo can hear the quiver in his voice that betrays his fear. Mo squeezes his hand reassuringly. 

“Just deciding on what to do for dinner!” Sherri says. “What are you boys in the mood for?”

“I’d kill for a sandwich right now,” Zeke says, and Mo watches some of the tension leave his shoulders. His mom was always a little easier on Zeke, even when shit was bad. “Like, Subway, maybe? Or anything, really. I’m not picky.”

“Sandwiches sound good,” Mo agrees. “We could go pick them up?” 

“Maybe Mo and I could go,” Reuben says. 

Mo stares at his father. On the one hand, it’s a far better suggestion than Zeke and his dad being left alone. On the other hand, Mo doesn’t really want to be trapped in a confined space with his dad, quite yet. 

“What about pizza?” Zeke says. “Pizza’s easy, and then no one’s gotta leave. You guys can get some quality family time in.”

Mo starts to murmur, “you’re family too,” but Sherri exclaims over him, “perfect!”

Zeke grins, so that’s something, at least. “Does that work for you, uh, sir?”

“Oh, stop calling me sir,” Reuben snaps. 

An awkward hush falls over the kitchen. Mo glares at his dad and holds onto Zeke’s hand a little tighter because he knows, if given the chance, his boyfriend would bolt as quick as possible. He’d probably just run and hide upstairs, or maybe go outside for a smoke, but neither of those are acceptable right now. His dad snapping at Zeke isn’t acceptable right now. 

Reuben sighs. “I’m sorry.” He scrubs a hand over his face and across his bald head. “I didn’t mean to snap.” He says every word like it pains him to admit. “There really is no need to call me sir, Zeke. We’ve known each other, christ, decades, nearly. You can call me Reuben.” 

Mo looks over at Zeke to gauge his reaction. Zeke’s face gives nothing away at first, other than pure surprise. It’d be funny, if the situation weren’t so fraught, ready to fracture at the slightest mishandling. Mo glances back at his dad and is equally surprised to see him looking a little sheepish. 

“Okay,” Zeke says eventually. “What about Reub?”

“Absolutely not,” Reuben says, but again, there’s something like a smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Fair enough, I understand completely. Thanks, Reuben.” Zeke nods at him, then shoots Mo a smile. “So, pizza?”

* * *

They spend their time waiting for pizza to arrive discussing easy things, like what cleaning out the dorm was like, and what the drive back home was like, and how his mom’s knitting has been going. Even once the pizza gets there, they sit at the dining room table and stuff their faces instead of talking. The most interesting part of the whole ordeal is when Reuben goes to pour a couple fingers of scotch, and actually stops to ask Zeke if that’s okay.

“Yeah, man,” Zeke says, “you do you, I’m cool.”

It isn’t until there’s one slice of pizza left—double cheese with pepperoni—that Reuben clears his throat.

“I think there are, maybe, some elephants in the room that still need to be addressed.” 

Zeke stops, mid-reach for the last slice. Mo shoots his dad another glare and is a little gratified to see his mom doing the same. “Uh,” Zeke says as he drops his hand back into his lap. “Okay?”

“Dad,” Mo starts.

“I’m not trying to start shit,” Reuben says, and Zeke lets out a hysterical kind of laugh that they all just sort of ignore. “I just want to put it out there...Mo says you’ve changed, Zeke. And I’m inclined to believe my son. I’m not the same person I was back then, and Mo certainly isn’t the same dipshit kid he was back then either. I have no reason to think you haven’t changed, too.” 

Zeke’s staring at Reuben like...well, kind of like he stared at Mo that first night Mo said he forgave Zeke. A little less pining in his eyes, thank god, but the same kind of reverence—as if Zeke didn’t realize he deserved this.

Under the table, Mo hooks his ankle with Zeke’s. His boyfriend doesn’t even seem to notice. 

“To new beginnings,” Reuben says when no one else seems inclined to say anything. He holds up his scotch, and Sherri raises her glass of wine, Mo and Zeke raise their waters, and they all toast. The _ching_ of glass rings out before they all take a sip; Reuben knocks back what’s left of his scotch and shakes his head like he’s shaking water from his hair. 

Zeke meets Mo’s gaze across the table, and he looks so happy, so delighted, Mo thinks for a moment he might cry. 

“How about a movie?” Sherri suggests a little bit later. “Zeke, honey, eat that last slice or else it’ll just go to waste.”

“I forgot, none of you like leftover pizza, cuz Mo is from a family of freaks,” Zeke says good-naturedly. He grabs the last slice out of the box and starts to eat it.

“I’m down for a movie,” Mo adds. “I’ll help you clean up, mom. Dad, why don’t you pick out the movie?” 

Reuben looks surprised by the suggestion. “Uh.”

“Zeke’s been taking some night classes about film and stuff, maybe he could help?” Mo adds.

Zeke, cheese between his teeth as he tugs it away from the greasy crust, freezes. “Uh,” he says around the bite, “sure?” He slowly nibbles along the stretch of cheese until he can bite it off without it dripping all over his hand. “I mean, it’s just basic shit, I’m no film critic or nothing.” 

“You have good taste,” Mo says as he stands. He starts to collect the plates while his mom takes care of the boxes. Mo stops behind Zeke’s chair long enough to drop a kiss to his brown mop of hair. “Go help dad pick something out.” As he slips back into the kitchen, Mo shoots his dad a meaningful look.

From the kitchen, Mo hears his dad say, “well, c’mon, let’s take a look at the entertainment center.” 

“Still using DVDs, old man? We gotta get you into the new age.” There’s a beat of silence, then the dining chairs scrape across the hardwood floor and their voices fade into the living room. 

Mo shares a grin with his mom. 

* * *

They end up watching the latest Marvel movie, which Mo doesn’t really care about and Zeke has already seen half a dozen times because he’s weirdly into them. Mo isn’t sure his mom even knows what’s going on, plot-wise. His dad keeps glancing over at him and Zeke every five minutes like they’re about to start boning on the couch right then and there. 

Mo’s glad some of the worse stuff is out of the way, like the whole “sorry I got your kid expelled from school, and got him high, and got him drunk, and gave him a stupid tattoo” stuff, and the “sorry I punched you in the face for fucking with my kid,” stuff. But Mo hadn’t really ever stopped to consider what _normal_ parent bullshit would be like—the eagle-eyed glances, the awkward coughs, the ever-looming feeling of being watched. 

Mo and Zeke are being perfectly respectable, thank you very much. They’re cuddled up on the couch, sure, but it’s nothing untoward. Were they back at their apartment, they’d be sprawled across the couch with their legs tangled and, honestly, they’d probably be making out. Instead, they’re shoulder to shoulder, with Zeke’s arm thrown over Mo’s shoulders and Mo’s hand on Zeke’s thigh.

And yet, his dad won’t stop glancing over. 

“Dad,” Mo says as some explosion happens on screen, “I promise that Zeke and I aren’t about to, like, bone down on your precious couch.”

His mom chokes on her laugh and has to hide her face in her hands. Even in the dim light of the movie, Mo can see the flustered flush on his dad’s face. Beside him, Zeke shakes with silent laughter. 

“Monroe,” his dad says warningly. 

“Dad,” Mo mimics in the same tone. “We’re behaving. We just wanna watch the movie.” 

Sherri swats at Reuben’s leg. “Reub, let them be.”

Reuben sighs again. “Fine.” He settles into the couch, casts them one last glance, before returning to the movie. 

Zeke dips his head to laugh softly against Mo’s ear, and Mo squeezes his thigh just once, a little playfully. 

* * *

“Mo,” his dad says after the movie is over, “can I talk to you for a second?” 

Mo stops with one foot on the bottom step, Zeke a few steps ahead of him. “Go on,” Mo says, “I’ll be up in a few.” 

“You better tuck me in,” Zeke says with a wink before turning and heading upstairs. 

Mo turns around and wanders back into the kitchen to find his dad staring down at a glass of water. “Everything okay?” 

“Are you happy?” He asks. It’s not derisive, or mocking. It’s a genuine question. 

Mo gives him a genuine answer. “Yeah, dad, I am.”

Reuben nods. “I know you’re both adults. I know you’ve been together a while, now. I trust that you know what you’re doing this time around.”

Mo gives a sheepish laugh. “Thanks dad, for that vote of confidence.”

Reuben smiles at him briefly. “I trust you both. And god, if you had told me ten years ago that I would be saying I trust Zeke Presanti under my roof, I would’ve laughed you out of house and home.” Reuben shakes his head. “But this is still my house, and I trust that you will both be respectful while under my roof.”

Mo can feel the blush start at the back of his neck, burning around to the front and up to his face. “Dad,” he says weakly.

“I’m not going to barge into your room unannounced or anything. I just ask that you be respectful.” Reuben sighs, like saying this has lifted some great weight off his chest. And hell, maybe it has. 

“Of course, dad.” Mo nods, almost furiously. “We will be absolutely, one hundred percent respectful.” 

Reuben nods and downs his water. “Get to bed, kiddo.”

Mo blinks. “G’night, dad.” He turns around and hurries up the stairs. He detours long enough to brush his teeth before slipping into his bedroom. He locks the door for good measure, because even though he trusts that his dad isn’t going to come breaking down his door, he’d rather be safe than sorry. Somehow, he wouldn’t put it past his mom to accidentally walk in while, like, Zeke is changing or something. 

“Momo, that you?” There’s a soft thud as Zeke drops his phone to the bed. 

“Yep,” Mo says. He leans against the door and takes a deep breath. “My dad told me we need to be respectful under his roof.”

Zeke sits up on the bed, and stares at Mo. “So...no head?”

Mo bursts out laughing and claps a hand over his mouth. “That vine is so old, man, you need to get with the times.”

“Vine is timeless, fuck you very much. Get over here, man, I miss you.”

“You’ve literally been with me for two days straight,” Mo says even as he walks over to the bed. He stops long enough to drop a kiss to Zeke’s forehead. “I gotta get into some pajamas.”

“You don’t wanna sleep naked in your childhood bedroom?”

“Hard pass,” Mo says as he starts to strip. He rifles around in their suitcase for a pair of sweats and one of Zeke’s old tees, keenly aware the entire time that Zeke’s eyes are on his naked body. “So remember,” Mo says as he shrugs the shirt on first, liking the way it sits a little long on him, a little baggy because Zeke buys everything a size or two too large. “Remember, we gotta be respectful.”

“You are cruel, Monroe Leslie Harris,” is Zeke’s reply. He’s sprawled out on the bed, hands tucked under his head, and he’s watching Mo like a hawk. “Prancing around in my shirt like that, Jesus fucking Christ.” 

Mo grins. “Think you can keep quiet?” 

“I can sure as hell try, as long as you promise not to put on pants.”

Mo drops the sweats back into the suitcase. “Deal.” He doesn’t quite leap onto the bed but he jumps enough to make it creak and he falls against Zeke laughing. They both laugh, quiet and breathy, as they strain their ears to see if Reuben or Sherri come knocking. 

No one does. Mo’s meets Zeke’s gaze and they’re off like identical rockets. Zeke clambers between Mo’s bare, spread legs, hands already roaming greedily over Mo’s thighs. Zeke’s hands glide up, over his hips, bypassing his cock to slip under the gaudy orange tee. He thumbs over Mo’s nipples, a man on a mission, and Mo barely claps a hand over his own mouth in time to stifle his whine.

“Oh fuck, this is so hot,” Zeke says reverently. “Hang on, I gotta grab the lube.”

Mo doesn’t even protest, because he wants it too—wants it in that reckless way that Zeke still manages to bring out in him. All things considered, fucking in his childhood bedroom with his parents only a few doors away probably isn’t the most scandalous thing, but it’s a good balance. The thrill of getting caught, of having to be quiet, it all feels like a dare, a challenge. The fun kind, though, not the kind that makes you hungover and full of regret. 

“Mo, baby, eyes on me,” Zeke says as he climbs back onto the bed and back between Mo’s thighs. He’s got lube in one hand and three fingers on the other hand slicked up and glistening. “God, you’re cute in that fucking shirt.”

“I know,” Mo says, pleased. “S’why I packed it.” His eyes flutter shut and he arches his back as Zeke slides two fingers inside him right off the bat. It burns a little, too much but not enough at the same time. Mo writhes, eager for more.

“I know, I know,” Zeke mumbles, “I need it too, yeah?” He thrusts his fingers a little faster, a little deeper, and goes willingly when Mo tugs him down for a sloppy kiss. 

Mo moans into Zeke’s mouth and hopes that’s enough to muffle it because he’s not sure he can make himself stay quiet. He rakes one hand down Zeke’s back and urges him closer. 

“Can you take another?” Zeke asks as he presses a kiss to Mo’s cheek, then the hinge of his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe. 

“Yes, fucker, c’mon,” Mo urges. He hooks one leg over Zeke’s hips and shudders as a third finger slips inside him. “Fuck,” Mo hisses, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I got you, I got you,” Zeke insists. He curls his fingers and grazes Mo’s prostate. Mo’s mouth drops open before he can even fully process the pleasure sparking up his spine like a livewire, and Zeke’s quick to shove two fingers between Mo’s lips to stifle the sound.

Mo still moans though; he glides his tongue along Zeke’s fingers and swallows the naturally salty taste of skin. Zeke presses his fingertips down on Mo’s tongue just slightly, just enough to tease his gag reflex. At the same time, he presses three fingers inside his ass like a targeted assault to drive Mo fucking insane. 

Mo shivers and whines again. He tries to speak but can’t work his lips around Zeke’s fingers. Zeke pulls them out only after Mo bites down on them, gently. 

“Easy,” Zeke says, laughing. “You good?”

“Get inside me,” Mo says with a not-so-gentle knee to Zeke’s side. “We don’t have all night.”

“I mean, we kinda do.” But Zeke withdraws his fingers obediently, and Mo watches, enraptured, as the muscles in his forearm flex while he smears excess lube over his cock. It’s a sight Mo could watch for the rest of his life and never get tired of. He drags his gaze up Zeke’s body, over his ridiculous tattoos, the fucking shark, the old-school playground ‘S,’ all of them history on Zeke’s skin. 

When Mo glances at Zeke’s face, he thinks _looking at that face forever wouldn’t be so bad,_ and gasps right as Zeke presses inside. 

“Fuck, Mo, babe,” Zeke groans lowly. He pushes in, one slow, tortuous thrust—normally Mo might be whining for it, panting and gasping, but he feels like the air has been knocked out of him by the realization. He already kind of thought he wanted Zeke to stick around for good this time, but abstractly thinking about things and knowing them are different. 

“Mo, you with me?” Zeke asks as he buries his face against Mo’s neck. “You’re thinking awful hard.”

“Thinking about you,” Mo says honestly before knotting a hand in Zeke’s hair and dragging him into a kiss. It’s all teeth and lips, sloppy and messy as Zeke starts to thrust. 

Mo starts to keen, breathy pants that spill out of him each time Zeke thrusts into him. The thrusts are slower, measured, not as frantic as Mo expected but just as good, just as perfect. 

Mo’s other hand finds Zeke’s hip and he clings desperately to his boyfriend. “Zeke, gonna come.”

“So soon?” Zeke manages to say teasingly. But he nips at Mo’s bottom lip and somehow works his still-sticky hand between their bodies to stroke Mo’s cock. “Do it, do it for me, babe.”

Mo nods and shudders. He focuses on the feeling of Zeke’s cock splitting him open, Zeke’s hand on his cock, skilled and sure. It’s all too much, and Mo never wants it to end, but he can feel the rhythm changing in Zeke’s thrusts. “You’re close too,” he gasps.

“You know I am,” Zeke says. He presses his grin against Mo’s neck, nips at his pulse point. “Come for me, Mo, baby, c’mon.” 

Mo’s breathing hitches when Zeke bites down again, harder, sucks a hickey into the junction where neck meets shoulder. He comes so hard he sees stars behind his fluttering eyelids and he starts to moan, loud and throaty and guttural. A hand covers his mouth, huge and familiar, and Mo whines against Zeke’s palm. 

“Fuck,” Zeke groans, “you’re so fucking pretty when you come, what the fuck, man,” and then he’s coming too. A few last, aborted thrusts before his hips still and Mo’s filled with the weird feeling of come, a sensation he still hasn’t gotten used to. “God fucking shit, Momo, christ.” Zeke drops down and nuzzles at Mo’s collarbone.

Mo runs his hands along Zeke’s shoulders and back. His fingertips seek out the slightly different textures of inked skin versus bare skin—more of the former than the latter. “Can’t believe we fucked in my childhood bedroom our first night back.”

“Really? I can absolutely believe it.” Zeke lifts his head enough to plant a kiss to Mo’s chin. “Want me to grab a washcloth for you?”

“Such a gentleman,” Mo teases, “comes in my ass and offers to clean up his mess.”

Zeke grins. “I mean, I could _really_ clean you up, if you want.”

Mo can’t help his shiver but he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet during that. You know it.” 

Zeke laughs. “Yeah, I do know it.” He kisses Mo before saying, “hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

Mo nods and sighs as Zeke pulls out of him. He watches Zeke tug his pajama pants back up before clambering off the bed, unlocking the door, and slipping out into the hallway. Mo sighs as he tugs the blanket up, just in case either of his parents wander by, but the thrill of potentially getting caught still hums in his veins. Leftover adrenaline, or something like it. 

Zeke returns shortly and shuts the door gently behind him, locking it once more. He makes like he’s going to toss the wet washcloth at Mo, but doesn’t—Mo wouldn’t have put it past him, frankly. 

Zeke tugs at the blanket until Mo’s exposed, and then tenderly, gently, more than Zeke ever would’ve been in the past, Zeke cleans him up. It’s no substitute for a proper shower, and Mo feels a little embarrassed knowing it’ll likely stain the grey sheets, but he can’t be too upset. Not when he gets to watch Zeke’s reverent gaze and hands roam over his body until he’s as squeaky clean as he’s going to get. 

Zeke tosses the washcloth in the general direction of the laundry hamper before climbing into bed and under the covers again. He throws an arm over Mo’s waist, and Mo twists to lie on his side so he can face Zeke. 

“So...first day back, not too bad, right?” Mo asks. 

“Not too bad,” Zeke agrees. “Your dad still kinda scares the shit outta me, but that’s okay. Dads are supposed to be like that, I think.”

“I think so, yeah.” Mo grins. “You don’t regret agreeing to come home for the summer?” 

“Not at all.”

“Even though Kate will be here in a few days?”

Zeke opens his mouth. “Still don’t regret it,” he says slowly, “but I am more terrified of Kate than your dad.”

“My dad literally punched you in the face.”

“Your sister _literally_ kicked me in the balls once. Way fucking worse.” 

Mo snorts and hides his face against his pillow. He laughs harder when Zeke leans in and nuzzles against his neck, right where he’s ticklish. “Zeke, c’mon.”

“Sorry,” Zeke says, not sounding very sorry at all. “I really don’t regret coming here, not one fucking bit. Even if Kate kicks me in the balls again. Even if your dad does end up punching me in the face again. It’d be worth it.”

Mo smiles against the pillow, before tilting his head so Zeke can see his smile too. “You’re such a sap. All I would need to do is record this, and show someone, and they’d never have trouble believing how you’ve changed. You’re such a softie.”

Zeke shrugs before tightening his hold around Mo. “Just for you, Mo.”

* * *

Mo wakes the next morning to an empty bed. He has a moment of panic—Zeke left unattended with his parents doesn’t feel _smart_ this early on, or this early in the morning. But when he strains his ears, he can hear the opening lines to some classic rock filtering up from downstairs, accompanied by Zeke’s off-key voice. His dad isn’t shouting, his mom isn’t complaining, so...something must be going well. 

Mo throws off the blanket and remembers abruptly that he’s not wearing pants. He scrambles for the sweats he abandoned the night before and staggers around his room trying to pull them on. He stops to make sure there aren’t any suspicious stains on the orange tee, and then he’s bounding out of his bedroom and downstairs.

To find Zeke in his parents’ kitchen, cooking. Zeke is far from a master chef. He burns most of what he attempts. But he can manage scrambled eggs and microwave bacon. Just as Mo skids into the kitchen, the microwave _dings_.

“Zeke?” Mo asks, interrupting Zeke’s singing. 

“Morning, Momo!” Zeke grins at him. “Your dad went out to get some groceries or some shit, and your mom is upstairs gettin’ ready for the day. I figured I’d make breakfast for the family.” 

Mo blinks. “That’s sweet of you, but you didn’t have to.”

Zeke shrugs. “I wanted to. Last night went a lot better than I thought, you know? Gotta show my gratitude somehow.”

“Zeke,” Mo starts, hurrying over to his boyfriend’s side, “you don’t have to be grateful that my parents are treating you like a normal human being. If they didn’t, they’d be assholes. Even with everything that happened.”

Zeke stops scrambling the eggs around in the pan but he doesn’t look at Mo. “I know that,” he says in a tone Mo can’t quite read. “I just wanted to do something nice.” 

Mo hesitates. Zeke has always had this desperate need, not necessarily for approval but for belonging. He’s always needed friends to hang around, and he’s always needed familiarity. Without it, he ends up like a raft out in a storm, wrecked and lost. It had been a learning curve, Zeke told him, when he first started getting sober and had to stop hanging out with his stoner friends. It had been a learning curve for Mo, too, when they became friends again and when they started dating. 

Zeke has this tendency to focus on the wrong things. He wants to belong so badly, instead of accepting what’s given, he’ll focus on what’s still to be earned. Mo doesn’t know quite what Zeke thinks he still needs to earn, but he does know that a perfect happy family doesn’t happen overnight. Not with their history. 

But Mo isn’t going to disagree with Zeke on this. Zeke wanting to do something good might be just that—it’s not him proving his worth, maybe, and is instead just a genuine show of gratitude. So Mo leans over and kisses the corner of Zeke’s mouth.

Zeke recoils slightly. “Go brush your fucking teeth, man, that’s nasty.”

Mo snorts and tries for another kiss, only for Zeke to wield the eggy spatula at him. “What are you gonna do, spank me?” Mo taunts, even as bits of egg fly off the plastic utensil.

“Okay,” Reuben’s voice comes from the edge of the kitchen, “didn’t need to hear that.”

“Oh, fuck,” Zeke says.

“Dad, I’m just teasing,” Mo adds. “Zeke’s threatening me with a spatula.”

“Brush your teeth, man!” Zeke says again. 

“He’s right, son,” his dad says wisely as he finally walks into the kitchen, arms full of grocery bags. “Go brush your teeth and then help me with the groceries.”

“I could help,” Zeke starts. 

Mo and his dad say, “No,” at the same time, before sharing a look. 

Mo adds, “You’re cooking, babe, it’s fine. You focus on not burning the eggs.”

“I haven’t burned eggs in like, six months.” 

“Doesn’t mean it can’t still happen,” Mo says knowingly. “I’ll be right back down, dad.” He turns and bolts for the stairs. He brushes his teeth quick and maybe a little sloppy—he doesn’t use the old little plastic hourglass that sits in the bathroom from his days with braces. He’s back down pretty quick, and the roll of Zeke’s eyes is fond.

“Still gross, man, you’re gonna get cavities.” But Zeke deigns to kiss him this time, before shooing him toward the front door.

His mom comes down while Mo and Reuben are unloading groceries, and Zeke is just starting to plate up the slightly overdone eggs with the perfectly microwaved bacon.

“Thanks again for breakfast,” Mo says as they all meander into the dining room. It’s just as weird as it was the night before to have Zeke sitting across from him at the dining room table; it’s just not something Mo ever really pictured, especially not back in high school. 

“Yes, thank you Zeke,” Reuben adds, even as he eyes the eggs a little suspiciously. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Just wanted to show my gratitude,” Zeke says. “For welcoming me into your home and shit.”

Reuben looks a little surprised by the admission—so does Sherri, but she hides her shock in a sip of orange juice—and he sputters to recover. Mo can admit it’s kind of fun watching his dad be flustered, but it still makes a pang of concern ring in his chest. 

“Of course,” Reuben says, “you’re Mo’s boyfriend.” He says it easily. Even though Mo knows it’s not that easy and never will be—eventually, the other shoe will drop, there will be a fight, and they’ll all get over it but it’s kind of inevitable—he likes to pretend it is, for now. His dad talks to Zeke like there’s not years of history and animosity between them, and for that, _Mo_ is grateful. 

* * *

The day passes uneventfully. Mo is done with school for a year, taking the time off to figure out what he really wants to do, and Zeke’s night school classes are done for the next few months, too. There’s nothing to really do around town, unless they wanted to go see a movie (except, nothing good is playing) or go to a fast food joint (gross, too greasy, even for them), or stroll around the frankly unglamorous small town (enough said). 

So they stay in, watching movies and dumb shit on YouTube, while his parents mill about the house. Things are quiet without the structured attempts at family time, but Mo finds he doesn’t mind it. He likes the peacefulness; it’s more than he really expected to get when they first planned this trip. His parents end up going out for dinner and even though they invite Mo and Zeke along, they both decline.

“We can handle takeout, mom, we’re not kids.”

“You’ll always be my kid,” she says as he walks her to the door. Reuben is already waiting in the car outside. “Be safe, okay? We’ll be home before too late.”

“Yes ma’am!” Zeke hollers from the kitchen, and Sherri leaves with a laugh. “What do we wanna order?”

“Thai?” 

“Man, the Thai places around here are all shit.”

“You haven’t eaten at a Thai place around here in at least four years, dude.”

“Yeah, but you really think they’re that much better?” 

“Yes, because I’ve eaten at them.” Mo rolls his eyes and finds the kitchen drawer full of takeout menus. “This one, this place is good. They’ve got this avocado curry that’s amazing.” He holds out the menu for Zeke to take, and watches with mild amusement as his boyfriend scans the paper like it holds the secrets to the universe.

Zeke decides on pad thai, and Mo goes for the avocado curry; they spend their time waiting for the food lazily making out on the couch and half-watching the latest season of some Netflix reality show. Mo signs for the food and Zeke sets them up in the living room, food spread across the coffee table. Mo grabs them each a soda from the fridge, and he falls onto the couch with a sigh. 

They’re in the middle of a _different_ Netflix reality show, and halfway through their food, when Zeke speaks. 

“Do you think your parents hate me?” 

Mo swallows his next bite of rice and avocado wrong. He practically throws his styrofoam container onto the coffee table as he struggles to sit up. He coughs, and Zeke’s hand comes down hard on his back to help. As soon as his throat is clear, Mo half-shouts, “What?” 

“Sorry, shit, babe, sorry.” Zeke sets down his food and passes Mo his soda instead. “Forget it.”

“Dude, I can’t just _forget_ that. Why are you asking me that?”

“Fuck, man, I don’t know! I just…” Zeke runs his hands through his hair. “It was just bugging me, alright? So I had to ask.” Zeke groans and hides his face in his hands. “We can just forget it. I’m just being a fucking idiot.” 

“Zeke, no, c’mon. I never said that.” Mo clears his throat a couple more times before speaking again. “I was just surprised. You’ve...you’ve actually never asked me that before.”

“I know.” Zeke shakes his head. “But I also haven’t seen your parents in fucking _years_ , man. For a long ass time, I didn’t think it would ever matter what Sherri and Reub Harris thought of me. But now it’s all I can fucking think about.” 

“I don’t think they hate you,” Mo says honestly. “I think they...I think they’re surprised, and I think it’s gonna take some adjusting. But they’ve been really cool about everything so far, and I think if they really had an issue with you, they wouldn’t act like everything was fine. They’d say something, to me or to you or, fuck, they’d just shout it at dinner.” 

Zeke’s nodding along. Mo’s not sure he’s really listening. 

“My parents don’t hate you,” Mo says more confidently. 

“Okay, cool.” 

“Zeke.”

“I was just wondering, that’s all! It’s cool, you don’t think they hate me, so they probably don’t, it’s all good!”

Mo lets out a groan of frustration. “Zeke, you’re worrying me.”

“I know!” He half-shouts. “I always fucking do.”

“You don’t _always_ worry me.” Mo reaches out and brushes some hair from Zeke’s face. “But this is kind of, y’know, a fucking weird situation. I think me being worried is _allowed_.”

“And me being worried that your parents hate me _isn’t_ allowed?” Zeke stands and Mo’s hand drops onto the couch with a _thud_. “Fuck, Mo, you don’t get it. You just don’t fucking get what it’s like inside my head. I don’t wanna worry you but sometimes it feels like if I don’t say the shit that’s on my mind, I’m gonna go even more insane than I already am.”

“You’re not insane,” Mo says. 

“I kind of am!” Zeke throws his hands in the air. “And that’s fine! I’ve dealt with that! And it’s cool if you’re still dealing with that! But you gotta, like, just let me be a fucking weirdo, sometimes, Mo.” Zeke tugs at his hair briefly before adding, “I know I’m a fucking disaster human and I know you care but, fuck, you can’t be on my ass the whole time.”

Zeke whirls around and looks at Mo, a look of regret already on his face. “Fuck, Mo, I’m sorry. I’m just.” The look in his eyes is almost unfamiliar to Mo, because he never saw it in Zeke’s eyes when they were younger. The look is full of remorse, for his hurtful words—Mo swallows his pride and the urge to snap back. 

Instead, he stands and goes to Zeke. “I’m sorry, too.” He takes Zeke’s hands and holds them. “I’m sorry, too. I’m not trying to be up your ass about this stuff.” 

“I know.” Zeke nods. He nods almost frantically. “I know that, Mo.”

Mo swallows. He’s embarrassed, and guilty, and he’s not quite sure what else to say. 

“Can we go to bed?” Zeke asks, even though it’s barely past eight.

“Yeah,” Mo says. “Yeah, let’s just take care of the food, first.”

“Kay.”

* * *

Mo wakes once more to an empty bed, except instead of it being morning, his bedside clock tells him it’s barely past midnight. His parents must already be home—before too late, my ass, he thinks—but he and Zeke had gone to bed around eleven or so. Their bedtime ritual, normally full of laughter and teasing or at least comfortable glances, was a little more tense. Mo feels bad, but still can’t shake the feeling that Zeke’s going to slip into old, bad habits. 

Mo sits up and rubs the sleepsand from his eyes and it’s then that voices catch his ear—from outside. He hurries off the bed and over to his window. He pushes it open slowly, so as not to make a sound. He can’t see a damn thing when he sticks his head outside, but the voices get louder.

“I just don’t wanna fuck this up, you know?” Zeke says.

“I know,” comes Reuben’s voice. 

Mo’s heart feels like it’s going to thud out of his chest. He backs away from the window and rushes for his bedroom door. He takes the stairs carefully, keen to avoid the creaky ones, and makes his way toward the front door. He detours into the dining room and crouches under the bay window that looks out onto the porch. It’s still a little muffled, but Mo can mostly hear what they’re saying.

“Mo thinks I’m...I’m trying to earn my place here,” Zeke says. “

“What do you mean?” 

“I got this thing,” Zeke says, and Mo can’t quite believe his ears. It’s not that Zeke isn’t candid—sometimes, he’s far too candid—but with his dad? And his dad listening, asking what seem to be thoughtful questions? It’s all...so much. “I got this thing,” Zeke starts again, “where I don’t know how to just like, be a person, you know? I feel like I gotta do something to earn it. I have to earn my right to take up the space I occupy, or some shit, right? And Mo was just really gettin’ on my case about it today.”

“Why today?”

“Cuz of breakfast and shit. And…And we had a conversation with dinner that kind of went fucking tits up. I just keep doing and saying the wrong shit. The fucking thing is, he might be right. My brain is a fucking mess, you know? You know.” Mo thinks Zeke might laugh then, that soft, self-deprecating one, but he’s not quite sure. “I don’t know what’s going on in my head half the time, and like, I’m working on it. But Mo’s so much smarter than me. He always sees the shit I miss.”

“I will say, I was surprised by the breakfast today. I just thought it was a nice gesture.”

“I really am just grateful you even let me into your house yesterday. I was ready to turn around and get the fuck out if you wanted me to.”

Reuben is quiet for a moment—they both are. When Mo dares to peek over the windowsill, he watches Zeke take a drag off his cigarette and blow the smoke the opposite direction of Reuben.

“I did, at first. As soon as I heard your voice on the other side of that door, I was...not happy. But Mo looked happy, and honestly, so did you. So I reigned it in.” 

“Yeah, Mo gets that from you. Smart, in touch with your emotions and shit.” 

Reuben smiles, a half-smile that’s more than a little rueful. “It doesn’t mean Mo is always right, even if he is smart, or in touch with emotions, or shit.” 

Zeke laughs and takes another drag. “I know. I do know that.” He drops his head and Mo wishes he could see Zeke’s face, see what’s running through his thoughts. “S’just hard. I don’t like makin’ Mo worry, I don’t wanna make you two uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure Kate might shoot me on sight when she sees me.”

“Sherri already called her and gave her a head’s up,” Reuben adds.

“Oh, good, so she can be locked and loaded as soon as she busts in the door.”

This time, they share a laugh. 

“I don’t know...all your issues,” Reuben says, “I didn’t, even back then. I thought I knew, and I’m sure I was at least a little wrong on some accounts. But I know that Mo...he really cares about you. He always has. He’s also told me that you’ve been working hard on bettering yourself, with being sober and staying clean. So I would guess that you know your brain better than you think. Maybe just...think about what Mo is saying. He’s a smart cookie, but maybe you’re both right.” 

Zeke nods along, sucking at his cigarette until it’s no more than an ember nub burning at his fingertips. He stubs it out on an ashtray that Mo has never seen before, one that looks mostly unused. Mo wonders where it came from—if Zeke brought it or if, impossibly, Reuben somehow got it? Zeke’s fingers twitch in that way that means he wants another one, but instead he stands, drawing Mo’s attention. 

“I promise not to break Mo’s heart again,” Zeke says after a moment of stretching. “I don’t wanna do anything to ruin this. I won’t.”

Reuben stands too, and extends his hand for Zeke to shake. “I’m holding you to that,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like a threat or a warning. It sounds like an agreement. A promise. 

Mo scrambles to get out of the dining room unseen and back up the stairs and into his bed. He listens as the front door eventually opens and shuts. He can hear the murmurs of Zeke and his dad bidding each other goodnight. Then the stairs creak and not long after, Zeke appears in the doorway.

“Mo?”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother trying to feign sleep. He wouldn’t lie, not to Zeke, not even about something like that. 

“Can we maybe, y’know, talk in the morning? About shit?”

“Yeah, of course.” Mo sits up a little straighter. “You okay?”

Zeke gives him a smile that’s dim only for the lack of light. When the moonlight hits his mouth, his smile is almost blinding. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Mo smiles too. He pats the space on the bed beside him. “C’mon, then. I’m fucking tired.”

Zeke laughs and, after locking the bedroom door, takes a running leap at the bed. Mo doesn’t even have time to shout in protest before his boyfriend lands on him. They both let out _oofs_ before getting settled. It takes some crafty maneuvering to get them both under the covers and comfortable, but once they are, Mo’s eyes start to drift shut immediately. 

“I love you, you know that, right?” Zeke asks, the words spoken mostly into Mo’s hair.

“Of course,” Mo says. “I love you too. You know that, right?” He mimics, not unkind.

Zeke’s smile is gentle against Mo’s temple. “Yeah, I know.”

* * *

They do talk in the morning. Mo makes himself a cup of coffee and Zeke grabs a Red Bull from the fridge, and they go out into the backyard. They sit on the little swing that hangs on the back porch, sitting close enough that their knees bump. Mo sips at his coffee, wincing when it scalds his tongue slightly, and Zeke cracks open his energy drink. 

“How much did you hear, last night?” Zeke asks.

Mo doesn’t bother denying it. “I, uh, I came in when you said you didn’t want to fuck this all up.” 

Zeke nods. 

“Look, Zeke, I’m sorry. I was out of line. You’re right, I’m not...I’m not one hundred percent used to this. I worry about you because I love you, but that doesn’t mean I have to be, like, a fucking helicopter parent. You’re a grown ass man, and you got your shit together before we met again. I need to respect that.” 

Zeke smiles faintly around the lip of his Red Bull. “I appreciate that, Mo.”

“And...you can be honest with me. If you want to ask me anything, _anything_ , I promise to react as normally as possible. No matter the question.”

“Do you think aliens exist?”

Mo blinks. “Definitely.”

“Would you sell your soul for infinite wisdom?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” Mo laughs softly. 

“Hey, you said ask you anything.”

“I did.” Mo nods, smiling. “Anything, any time.” 

Zeke lifts his arm and places it along the back of the swing. Mo scoots closer and tucks himself against Zeke’s side. They sit in silence for a little while, sipping their drinks.

“I didn’t mean to flip out last night,” Zeke says after a while. 

“I know. I get it.”

It’s times like this—like last night—that Mo realizes for as long as he’s technically known Zeke, there’s still a lot left unknown. Sometimes it feels like they have the perfect relationship, the kind that only comes from growing up together and knowing every little thing about each other for _years_. It’s something that came easily to them after reconnecting, in friendship and in dating. 

But they _don’t_ have a perfect relationship; no one does, really. And that’s fine. He still has a lot to learn about dating Zeke, about handling Zeke, about how Zeke handles himself. And really, Mo is excited for learning those kinds of things. He’s excited for figuring out their fights and making amends. 

When he drove away, back when he was sixteen going on seventeen, he had regretted it on some level. He had hated that he was leaving a huge chunk of his life behind, even if he understood why it had to happen at the time. For the rest of his sophomore year, he had daydreamed about reconciling with Zeke, about fixing things even though Mo hadn’t been in the wrong.

Now he gets that chance—because they will definitely fight, sometimes, it’s inevitable as much as Mo wants to avoid it. But now they can fix the little cracks as they happen, instead of, fuck, dropping the whole god damn vase on the floor.

“Momo?”

“I love you,” he says immediately, “I love you so much.”

Zeke kisses his forehead. “I love you too, Mo.” 

“We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, man. Of course. We both got shit to figure out, and we’ll figure it out together.” 

Mo smiles. “Together,” he agrees.

* * *

They’re walking around town a few days later—being cooped up inside for too many days was starting to grate on _everyone’s_ nerves—when Zeke hums curiously. Mo squeezes his hand where it’s tangled with his, hanging between their bodies as they walk.

“What’s up?” Mo asks.

“Just thinkin’,” Zeke replies. He’s scanning the area around them, less like he’s looking for something and more like he’s taking it all in. 

Mo waits a moment but the curiosity gets the better of him. “Wanna share?”

Zeke isn’t put off by the question, though. He grins faintly. “I really kinda thought, when I got outta here, I wouldn’t ever come back. Before I met you, y’know, I figured my life here was done.” Zeke’s gaze drops to the cracked sidewalk under their feet and he sidesteps a cluster of daffodils. “I kinda figured I’d end up dead in some hotel in the big city,” he admits, quiet, and Mo’s heart seizes in his chest. He knew that—Zeke has mentioned his time after leaving town and before meeting Mo again in passing. It still hurts to hear. “And then there was rehab, and I still kinda figured I’d just...go out nameless, right? Some nobody, and that was fine. At least it wouldn’t be drugs or drunk driving, so that’s a step up.”

Zeke looks over at Mo and despite the morose lilt of his words, he’s grinning wide. “N’then I got to meet you again, Mo.” Zeke looks forward again with something like a giddy shrug. “Now it’s just weird to be back. To be staying in your house, and your dad _not_ wanting to kill me. It’s a lot more than I ever thought I’d get, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Mo says hoarsely. He holds Zeke’s hand a little tighter. “I’m glad we met again.”

“Me too.” Zeke’s gaze starts to drift once more, that same way as if he’s drinking in all the details around them. “I wonder whatever happened to Nick,” he says a few minutes later, softer.

Mo smiles a little; Nick was just as bad an influence as Zeke sometimes, but he wasn’t a bad guy by any means. He was funny, even when he was being a dickhead. Usually. “We could check Facebook,” he offers. 

Zeke hums again. “Nah, he’s probably got his own shit to deal with. Good for him.” Zeke speaks again before Mo can say anything else. “Besides, I gotta get my head in the game if I’m gonna deal with Kate being home tonight.”

Mo laughs brightly. “I forgot to ask, can I film it? For posterity.”

“Sure,” Zeke says, snickering, “we can play it at family reunions, it’ll be a smash hit.”

Mo snorts and hides his face against Zeke’s shoulder. He can’t help the way his heart thuds heavily at the thought of Zeke being around for future family get-togethers. Right at Mo’s side, fitting in exactly where he belongs. 

They’d gone so long without speaking, Mo really had figured he’d just never see Zeke again. And back then, that was okay. It was fine to have lost his best friend, because everything was such a shitshow at the end, that Mo knew it was for the best. He hadn’t really had fantasies about Zeke coming back into his life, or what that could be like.

But now, two years after meeting Zeke again and after one year of dating, Mo can’t imagine anything but their future together. He can hear a voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like his father telling him to slow his roll. Kate’s voice too, comes back to him saying _Hanging out with Zeke stops being fun really fast. Trust me._

But Mo can’t see it—and not in the way he was blind to it before. He’s not some starstruck teenager who looks at Zeke Presanti like he hung the moon. He hasn’t been that kid in a long time, not since his dad walked in on him stoned and shirtless, really. And Zeke isn’t the same dipshit he was back then, either. They’ve both changed so much, and knowing that now they get to grow _together_ makes something bright bloom in Mo’s chest. 

“Hey,” Mo says abruptly, “let’s head back.”

Zeke raises an eyebrow. “You sure? We’ve only been out for, like, an hour. Kate won’t be home till late, your dad said.”

“I know, but…” Mo trails off, aware of the pink burning at his cheeks. “But mom is out of the house for her book club, and I think dad said he had some thing going on.”

Zeke smirks, but his eyes are bright and amused. “I see how it is,” he drawls. “Just want me for my body, classic Monroe Harris.”

Mo laughs and uses his grip on Zeke’s hand to tug him close for a kiss. “You’re saying you don’t want a blowjob?” 

Zeke’s breathing hitches, right against Mo’s lips. “I never said that,” Zeke rasps. “C’mon, if we jaywalk all the crosswalks, we can make it back in like, thirty minutes.” 

Mo cackles as Zeke starts to tug him back down the sidewalk. 

* * *

Mo moans around the cock in his mouth at the same moment a door opens downstairs. He glances up to see Zeke looking down at him, stricken. 

“Who’s home?” Zeke hisses, as if Mo’s mouth isn’t decidedly full at the moment. 

“Monroe?” Kate calls out. “Dad? Mom?”

“Oh, fuck,” Zeke mutters, his head dropping back to _thunk_ against the bedroom wall. “We’re so screwed.”

“We’re not screwed,” Mo says as he pulls off. He licks his lips. He watches, a bit sadly, as Zeke’s erection starts to flag— _could be worse_ , he thinks, _Zeke could’ve come when Kate started talking_. He snorts to himself and waves off Zeke’s confused look. “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” Mo promises.

“You’re still hard,” Zeke points out as he tucks his own dick away into his jeans. 

Mo looks down and sure enough, his cock is pressing at his jeans just slightly. “It’s fine,” he starts to say, until Zeke catches him by the hips and flips them around to press Mo up against the bedroom wall. “Zeke! The door isn’t locked!” Mo’s laughing though, because that same thrill from the first night has returned. 

“You’ll be quick,” Zeke says confidently as he works his hand inside Mo’s jeans. He strokes fast, knowing the exact way to twist his hand to have Mo weak in the knees. He must’ve licked his palm at some point because the grip is a little slick, not dry enough to hurt but enough for the perfect amount of friction. “Better hurry it up, Momo,” Zeke murmurs.

“Mo, I know you’re here!” Kate calls from downstairs, and Mo closes his eyes as if he can shut out the knowledge.

Turns out he can, because with his eyes shut all he can think about is Zeke inside him, fingering him open, flipping him over and licking him clean like he promised. He thinks about Zeke on his knees, his hands in Zeke’s hair. 

“Mo,” Zeke says lowly, and that’s all it takes. 

Mo gasps and lets out a soft keen as he comes in his jeans, all over Zeke’s fingers. Zeke strokes him through his orgasm and the aftershocks, until it’s too much. Zeke licks his own hand clean and Mo shivers. He leans in to kiss the salty taste off his lips. 

“I can’t believe I have to go see my sister like this,” Mo says after they’ve caught their breath.

“You wanna get changed? I’ll go stall.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mo says. Zeke takes a step back as Mo pushes his jeans down before kicking off his boxers. After a moment’s consideration, he just tugs his jeans back up, despite Zeke’s wounded noise.

“I, okay, sure, alright. Cool.” Zeke nods nonsensically and Mo lets out a laugh so hard he fumbles with getting his jeans up. 

And of course, that’s when his bedroom door opens.

“What the _fuck_?” Kate shrieks. 

“Oh, shit,” Zeke says before Kate’s coming at him.

Mo scrambles to get his jeans up, buttoned, and zipped before he goes for his sister to catch her around the waist. “Kate, stop it! It’s just Zeke!”

“I can see that!” She shouts back, shoving at Mo’s hands on her. “What the fuck is he doing here?” 

Mo maybe underestimated how much hatred Kate fostered toward Zeke—for cheating on her, for making her life harder, for making _Mo’s_ life harder. They never really talked about it, because once Zeke was out of the picture, things were actually pretty normal. There wasn’t much to talk about...or so Mo thought. 

Zeke, to his credit, isn’t fighting back. He’s got his arms up in defense but he’s not reaching to stop Kate, he’s not even yelling back. Mo takes a step back and drags his sister with him, and it takes far too much energy to keep her from lunging at Zeke again.

“Kate, I thought dad gave you a head’s up!” 

Kate whips her head around to glare at Mo. “I thought he was _joking_. He said you brought an _old friend_ home.” She turns to glare at Zeke again. “What is he doing here?” Sharper, venomous, she adds, “What are you doing here, Zeke?” 

Zeke looks frozen to the spot, and Mo feels bad. Before either of them can say anything, Kate speaks again.

“Were you seriously creeping on my brother?” She asks and Mo makes a noise of confusion. “Your jeans,” she says, “you didn’t even have _pants_ on.”

Mo’s face erupts in a blush. “Zeke is my boyfriend,” he says. It sounds so juvenile like that. It sounds like high school—it sounds like “I’m not going to stop seeing him” and “you were legends!” Mo shakes off the bittersweet memories. “He’s my boyfriend,” he says again, a little more confident. 

That, at least, gets Kate to stop struggling. “What?”

“It’s true,” Zeke finally says, although his voice waivers. He’s grinning, slightly, but he looks nervous. It’s back to square one with him looking like he wants to jump out the window.

Kate turns in Mo’s arms and pins him with a glare. “You aren’t. Tell me you are _not_ dating Zeke.”

“I’m dating Zeke,” Mo retorts, “have been for over a year now.” 

Kate blanches. “You’re serious.”

“I am.” Mo finally stops holding his sister back and scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “We ran into each other a couple years ago, and, well...When a man and a man love each other, very much...” He trails off, hoping for a laugh.

Kate turns on her heel and storms out of the room. Mo and Zeke stand, left behind, staring at one another. 

“Uh, should you go after her?” Zeke asks. “Or should I? I don’t think I should.”

“No, I should,” Mo agrees. “You okay? She didn’t get you too bad, right?”

“She didn’t kick me in the balls, so as far as I am concerned, we are golden.” Zeke raises his hands like a display of surrender. His arms look fine, maybe a little red from a couple welts where Kate’s long nails managed to scratch him. But otherwise, he seems unharmed. “Go talk to her, I’ll wait up here.

Mo hesitates for only a moment, and in that time, Zeke steps forward and puts his hands on Mo’s shoulders. 

“I’ll wait right here,” Zeke says again, a promise. Then he kisses Mo, once and gentle, before shooing him toward the door. 

Mo nods and goes and ends up finding Kate on the porch outside. He sits beside her on the rickety chairs his dad still hasn’t replaced. He waits but when she doesn’t speak either, he chances a look at her.

She’s staring at her hands and bouncing one leg.

“Kate…” 

“Why him, Mo? Of all the guys, _him_. After what he did to me, what he did to _you_.”

Mo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “He’s different,” Mo says, and he raises a hand when Kate opens her mouth to clearly protest. “He _is_. He’s been clean for a couple years now. He’s in night school. He’s actually _doing_ something with his life, now. It’s simple yeah. He probably won’t go on to be the next David Finch or whatever, but...he’s different.” Mo stares at his hands now; he twiddles his thumbs. 

It’s not like his family’s approval is required for him to keep dating Zeke. He likes Zeke too much to give him up a second time, especially now. But just as his parents’ approval meant a lot to Mo—and Zeke—Kate’s approval means just as much. He doesn’t _need_ it, but god, Mo wants it. 

“I just don’t get it,” Kate admits. 

“You haven’t known Zeke in a long time.” Mo finally sits up a little straighter and stares at his sister. “He’s not the same guy who cheated on you, or who turned my whole fucking life upside down. I really, _really_ like him, Kate.”

“You always liked him,” she says. She sounds bitter, and it hurts more than Mo expects. “You _always_ liked him. Do you have any idea what that was like? For me to break up with my boyfriend and still have to see him all the time, because he was your best friend? Do you get how fucking weird that is?”

Mo bristles in his seat. “I do,” he grinds out. 

“And he’s—he’s older than you, doesn’t that bug you? Doesn’t that bug dad?” 

“I’m an adult,” Mo snaps, “dating _another_ adult. I’m not sixteen anymore.” He wants to stand up, he wants to pace, he wants to _yell_. But he doesn’t. “I can handle myself, this time. Even if shit goes fucking tits-up, I can deal with it.” 

Mo scrubs his hands over his eyes. _Don’t cry_ , he thinks, _not right now_. “I just want you to give him a chance, Kate.” He looks at his sister from the corner of his eye. 

“I don’t know if I can, right now.” Kate stands. “This is just, this is too fucking crazy, Monroe, this is too much. I didn’t think this is what I’d be coming home to.” 

Mo swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

“I’ll talk to mom and dad, alright? Maybe...maybe we can get together later this summer.”

Mo nods again. “Sure. That sounds good.”

Kate stands in front of Mo and reaches for his head, cradling his face in her hands. She combs her hands through his hair and pats his cheek. “I’m sorry, Mo, this is just too much.” 

“I know. It’s fine.” He stands too and opens his arms to hug his sister. She hugs him back, tight, and kisses his temple. She has to stretch up on her toes to reach. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“Me too.” 

Kate smiles sadly at him. “See you, Mo.”

“Bye.”

Mo stands on the porch and watches his sister first wander inside before exiting with her purse and keys. She gives him a little wave before walking off the porch and back to her car. Mo watches her pull out of the driveway. He stays on the porch until her car is out of sight, and then stays out there a little longer.

Zeke joins him, eventually. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mo.”

Mo only leans against him; Zeke winds his arms around Mo’s waist immediately. “It’s alright,” he says. His voice barely shakes. “She’ll come around.”

Zeke kisses Mo’s other temple, a twin sensation to Kate’s kiss and yet entirely different. “I’m still sorry though, dude. This is the kind of shit I was afraid of.”

Mo can only sigh. “It’ll be fine,” he says once more. “C’mon, let’s go, I dunno, watch stupid YouTube videos or something.”

Zeke just nods and turns them so they can waddle back inside; his arms never leave Mo’s waist, even as they fall onto the couch. They tip over sideways, with Zeke against the back of the couch and spooned along Mo’s back. 

That’s how Sherri and Reuben find them not much later. For a second, it looks like Reuben might have something to say about it. Mo only stares back at him, and watches as his dad’s mouth snaps shut.

“How about Chinese for dinner?” Reuben says instead. 

“Sounds good, dad,” Mo says around a yawn.

“Works for me,” Zeke adds. 

Reuben wanders to ruffle Mo’s hair, a simple and gentle gesture. “It’ll be alright, son,” is all he says before he walks away, digging his phone from his pocket. 

“You good?” Zeke murmurs.

“Yeah.” Mo twists so his face is buried against Zeke’s chest. “Can we just stay here for a little longer, though?”

“Totally, man.” Zeke slings his arm over Mo’s waist once more. “We can stay here as long as you want.”

* * *

The next morning, Mo wakes to Zeke packing his stuff into a suitcase Mo has never seen. They had packed for this trip methodically: one suitcase for all their combined shit, a backpack for each of them, the toiletries bag, and the laptop they share. This suitcase, resting on Mo’s old desk chair, is new and sleek and still has the price tag hanging off it.

“What’re you doing?” Mo asks as he struggles to sit up. His limbs are still sleep heavy, and he rubs at his eyes to get rid of the sleep sand.

Zeke freezes, a deer caught in headlights. He stares at Mo and looks full of fear, and Mo feels bad, but not bad enough to not ask again, “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” Zeke says eventually. 

“What the fuck.” Not a question, but a statement. Mo swings his legs over the bed but trips over his sheets and almost goes tumbling—until, of course, Zeke catches him. Not that it’s a long drop to the soft, carpeted floor, but Mo’s thankful for Zeke’s reflexes nonetheless. “Why the fuck are you packing?” Mo asks as he unashamedly clings to Zeke. 

Zeke helps him stand up straight. “I think maybe I should head back home,” he says quietly. “So you and your family can get some quality time in.”

“You’re my family too,” Mo says fiercely. 

“I know, Mo, I know.” Zeke’s hands come to cup Mo’s cheeks. His thumbs, long and bony, stroke over the apples of Mo’s cheeks. “I just think it might be better for me to not be around. You should get some time with your family without, y’know, all my fucking shit. All my baggage, and whatever. You shoulda come out here first for a couple weeks, n’then I could’a come along.”

“But you’re here now,” Mo says, “I’m not letting you leave.”

Zeke sighs. “Mo, c’mon, we both know this wouldn’t be happening if I wasn’t here.”

“I want you here, though, isn’t that what matters?” Mo’s eyes are burning, too dry, tears welling up. “Mom and dad are being chill about it.”

“Yeah,” Zeke allows, “but you guys deserve some time that isn’t, y’know, your parents being weird about me being sober, and about our history, and shit. You guys deserve some just normal time together.” 

“Fuck you, Zeke!” Mo snaps, though he lays his hands over Zeke’s. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? You’re my family, too. You mean a lot to me. If I wanted to come out here without you, I would’ve.”

Zeke smiles at him, but there’s a sad lilt to it that makes Mo’s heart clench. “Mo,” he starts.

Mo kisses him. It’s gentle at first but he deepens it, winds his arms around Zeke’s shoulders and clings to him. “If you really want to leave,” he says, breathing heavy from the kiss, “that’s fine, but only if _you_ want to go. Not like, as some martyr shit for me. I want you here, my parents are okay with you being here. Kate will come around, and if she doesn’t then fuck her, she can just get used to it. To you.”

Zeke draws in a shuddering breath and Mo takes it as permission to keep talking. 

“If you aren’t comfortable here, or if you wanna go home cuz you don’t think our neighbors can handle feeding the fish, then fine. That’s okay with me. But do _not_ do it because you think I want you gone. Do not do it because you don’t think you deserve to be here, okay?” 

Zeke nods eventually. His hands have slid down Mo’s body to his hips instead. “Yeah,” he rasps, voice wavering. “Just sucks, you know? You were supposed to have a fun summer with your family, n’instead you had to fucking hold your sister back so she didn’t murk me.” 

“I don’t _care_ , Zeke. You know that.” 

“But I care, dude. I told you, I didn’t wanna make your life _harder_ , not after all the shit I already put you through. So, yeah, I’m not super comfortable here. Not right now. It’s not that I don’t think I _deserve_ to be here. I just don’t think it’s the right time.” 

Mo sighs and swallows. “So you’re gonna go.”

“I’m just gonna drive back home for a few weeks, make sure our shit is fine, then I’ll come back. I’ll be back for fourth of July, how’s that? We can be a big happy American family and shit. I’ll bring the white picket fence.”

Mo can’t help but snort. He also can’t really argue—he doesn’t want to keep Zeke here if Zeke isn’t comfortable being here. There’s a part of him that’s scared to have Zeke go, but he pushes it away. Zeke is plenty capable of taking care of himself, Mo knows that. 

Mo hugs his boyfriend tight. “Text me when you get home?” 

“Course.”

“Send me pics of the fish?”

“Dude, first thing I was gonna do, hands down.” 

Mo laughs. He nuzzles against Zeke’s neck. “And you promise you’ll come back?”

“Pinky swear,” Zeke says, and he even holds up a pinky. “Unless you tell me to stay away, I’ll be here by July fourth, promise.” 

Mo hooks his pinky with Zeke’s. “Okay.” 

Zeke kisses him, but it doesn’t really feel like a goodbye. 

* * *

After Mo sees Zeke off, he comes back inside to find both his parents waiting in the kitchen. Mo swallows his groan and makes a beeline for the fridge. He grabs the orange juice and when he turns around, his dad is holding out a glass for him.

“So,” his dad says as Mo pours the glass of juice, “Zeke left?”

Mo forces himself not to bristle. Or cry. “He thought it would be better if he went back home for a bit, so we could have some quality time together. Maybe we can call Katie over, or something.” Mo’s voice trembles at the end but he chases it with a sip of orange juice, and another, until half his glass is gone. “He’s gonna come back for fourth of July.”

Mo blinks and suddenly his mom is hugging him. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“It wasn’t something I said, was it?” Reuben asks, and Mo lets out a surprised bark of a laugh.

“No, dad, it really wasn’t. Zeke just thinks we maybe made a mistake bringing him by first thing. So...yeah.” Mo shrugs in his mom’s hold. “Yeah.”

“Oh, Monroe,” his dad sighs. He joins the hug too, and it’s too warm, and a little stifling, and more comforting than Mo expected. He sets down his juice and holds onto both of his parents. “It’ll be alright, Kate will come around.” 

“I don’t even care if she does or not,” Mo says. “ _I_ care about Zeke. _I_ know he’s different. He shouldn’t have to prove himself.”

“I’m not saying that, Mo, I’m just saying...it’s gonna take Kate some time. Her and Zeke have a history too, you know that.” 

“I know.” It comes out like a bit of a whine. Of course he knows Zeke and Kate have history. He _knows_ that. But it doesn’t stop him from feeling betrayed by her reaction—not when he and Zeke also have a history, and not when he and Zeke are looking at a _future_ together. “Fuck, I’m sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry, Mo. I think it’s very mature that Zeke decided to leave. I’m not _happy_ about it, but I do think it shows he’s changed. Zeke before would’ve...well, he wouldn’t have done that.”

Mo smiles faintly. Finally, his parents step back, and though he’s no longer stifled, Mo misses the comfort a little bit. “Yeah. He’s smarter than that, now.”

His dad ruffles his hair. “That’s good, Monroe. That’s really good.”

It’s small, but his dad’s words do help. Mo smiles a little wider and digs his phone from the pocket of his sweats.

**to: zeke  
** _love you. be safe._

* * *

“So, the fish are fine?” Mo asks. He grins at nothing—because Zeke is on the other end of the phone, not here in his bedroom with him. 

“Yes, Lawrence Fishburne and Awkwafina are doing great,” Zeke replies with a laugh. “I’m good too, thanks for asking.”

Mo rolls his eyes, though his tone is earnest when he says, “That’s good, I’m glad.” He fiddles with the cord of his headphones. 

“How you holdin’ up, Momo?”

The nickname warms Mo to his toes. “I’m alright, missing you a lot. Kate’s coming over this weekend, so that should be...something.”

Zeke whistles. “Good luck with that.” And he sounds teasing, aloof, but Mo knows he doesn’t mean it. “Your parents good? Reub miss me yet?”

Mo laughs. “Definitely, he might actually miss you more than me. You keep up with sports more than I do, it’s killing him.”

“I’ll bring a pack of trading cards back with me,” Zeke says. Mo can only imagine the look on his dad’s face if Zeke actually presents him with a pack of trading cards. “Seriously, though, babe, you doing alright?”

“I’m good!” Mo insists. “I really am. I miss you, a lot, but...you were probably right. This wasn’t a bad idea. I’m sorry I insisted on you coming home with me right off the bat.”

“S’alright, I know you were just stoked to show off your hot piece of ass, arm candy boyfriend.”

Mo laughs and wipes at the tears that were threatening to well up in his eyes. “You’re damn right. You’re right a lot, honestly.”

“It’s the therapy, man.” 

“I know.” Mo twirls the headphone cord around his finger. “I am sorry, for real, though. I was a little...unrealistic in thinking everything would be totally fine.”

“We’re cool, Momo, you know that. I wanted it to be a fairytale too, but it just wasn’t in the cards. I’ll be back in three weeks, and we can watch some dope ass fireworks while your dad acts weird about drinking a beer in front of me.” Zeke snickers on his end of the line. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Mo says honestly. 

Zeke went home nearly a week ago; since they started dating, it’s probably the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other in person. It’s harder than Mo expected, and that's just one reason Mo thinks this was the right move. He and Zeke have always had something verging on codependent, and even if time apart and therapy had helped them both deal with that, Mo thinks maybe they fell into some old habits over the last two years. 

“Mo?” Zeke’s voice pulls Mo out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“Dangerous, babe, don’t wanna overwork that brain of yours on your year off.” 

Mo shakes his head. “I’ll make sure not to.” 

* * *

Kate shows up while mom is out gardening and dad is off...doing something, Mo actually isn’t sure. He’s chilling on the couch, not really paying attention to whatever’s on television, when the front door opens. For a split second, his heart jumps because he thinks it might be Zeke—but then he sees Kate’s gently waving hair swaying as she waltzes in, one travel bag slung over her shoulder. 

“Oh, Mo,” she says, stopping in the entryway. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Mo gives her wave-salute thing, something he knows he picked up from Zeke. Kate just stares at him for a long moment, and Mo starts to squirm after a while. “You’re staying for the weekend, right?”

“That’s the plan.” Her fingers flex around the handle of her bag. “Mom mentioned...that Zeke went back to his place.”

“Our place,” Mo says, can’t help but add. “He and I live together, now. Since my year was up at school, I just moved into his place. Our neighbors were watching the place while we stayed here.” He really likes their little one bedroom, one bath place. It’s small, but it’s _theirs_. They share a dresser and a closet and sometimes, when he’s especially tired, Zeke uses Mo’s toothbrush and it’s cuter than it should be, really.

“Oh, wow,” Kate says. Her eyes are wide. “That’s...that’s awesome, Mo. That’s a big step.” 

Mo shrugs. “I can’t afford a place on my own, and all my friends either moved to different cities after school or, y’know, were already booked as far as roommates go. It just made sense.” He twiddles his thumbs. “And, y’know, I love him, and shit, so.” 

There’s a _thud_ , and then the couch sinks as Kate sits beside him. “I know, Mo. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Mo says. “I get it, you guys have a past too. He hurt you. He hurt all of us. He was a fucking dick. You have every right to be mad at him, still. He and I…we had to hash so much shit out, when we first started talking again. It took time. It’s not like we were immediately best friends again, and it’s not like I was instantly in love with him.” 

Mo’s cheeks burn slightly. He and Kate aren’t close in the way where they always share stuff like this. It’s been...years, since they had any kind of heart to heart like this.

“And if you don’t wanna give him a chance, or hear what he has to say, or whatever, that’s fine. I’m not gonna stop seeing him just because you don’t like him, or whatever. But I at least need you to be civil around him, if you can stand it. Don’t fucking lunge at him and try to claw his eyes out, next time you see him. You don’t even have to talk to him.” 

“Mo…”

“He’s coming back for fourth of July, and I would really love it if you and Eric would be here, too. So we can all just, y’know, be a family together. Even if it’s, like, pretend. For a little bit.” 

“I can do that. Eric and I will definitely be there.” Kate reaches out and takes Mo’s hand. “I’ll be civil. I’ll even say hi, or something.”

Mo nods. “That’s all I really want. Just some normalcy. I’m sorry to have sprung it on you. I thought dad gave you more of a warning.”

“I should’ve known,” Kate admits. “The way dad said it, looking back, he was definitely trying to say it _without_ saying it. Because he’s a weirdo.”

They share a grin and a soft laugh.

“Yeah, he is.”

“He’s really cool with this, though, isn’t he? With Zeke?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s not _completely_ cool with it. After everything Zeke did? Do you really think dad would just,” Mo snaps his fingers, “be chill with everything?” Mo shakes his head. “I think he’s _behaving_ for my sake, and I appreciate it. I appreciate that he’s giving Zeke a chance to show he really has changed.” 

Kate’s silent for a while and Mo reaches for his phone. He’s got a couple messages from Zeke but nothing urgent, so ignores them for now. He looks over at Kate to find her biting her bottom lip. 

“Tell me about him,” Kate says finally. “Tell me about Zeke. What he’s like now.”

Mo blinks in surprise. “Wait, really?” 

Kate nods. “Yes. Regale me.” She smiles at him. 

Mo grins back. “Yeah, okay.” 

* * *

“Hey.”

“Hey, babe!” Zeke says cheerily. “You been busy lately, or what?” There’s nothing accusatory in his voice, instead bolstered by laughter. 

“Yeah, sorry, it was a crazy weekend.” Mo hesitates. Zeke knew Kate would be coming by, after all. He wants to talk about it, and he knows Zeke wouldn’t protest, but he doesn’t want to make his boyfriend uncomfortable.

“That’s great, man! How’d it go?” 

Mo smiles and draws his knees to his chest. He’s on his bed, his parents have gone to sleep and Kate left hours ago, shortly after dinner. He speaks a little softer, even though he’s pretty sure by now that both his parents sleep like the dead. “It went really well, actually. I told her all about you.”

“Wait, for real?” There’s a thud, like Zeke falling into a seat, probably his favorite bean bag chair that sits near their television.

“Yeah. She asked me to.” Mo’s grin widens—he can’t help it. He’s never considered himself one for gushing, even when he’s dated in the past. But that’s what he had done, Friday. He had gushed to Kate about Zeke, all the good things and some of the bad things too. 

He’d gushed about Zeke’s movie marathons for class assignments, and how he always ropes Mo into them. He’d gushed about how Zeke still can’t really cook to save his life and how he always loads the dishwasher wrong. He’d gushed about buying their two fish together, and how they’d gone all out with the tank and decorations, even though it’s just two simple and plump goldfish. He’d gushed about how one time, Zeke shrank Mo’s favorite cashmere sweater, the one that had been a gift from his dad. He’d gushed about how Zeke had worked out a deal with their apartment manager to save them some money while they came home for the summer.

They’d sat on the couch for hours, up until Reuben got home, and even then, they talked a little longer. Kate listened intently, and even laughed, she even smiled. 

“She promised to be chill, at fourth of July.”

“That’s awesome, Mo,” Zeke says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Get this, too. She’s _pregnant_.” 

“What?! No way! Her and, uh, what’s his name?” 

“Eric, yeah.”

“That’s crazy! Did your dad flip out?”

“She hasn’t told him yet. Or mom.”

“But she told you?”

“Yep.” Mo can’t help but be a little pleased at that. It feels like a bit of a mend on their relationship, that she’d confide in him. “She’s gonna tell them on the fourth, since that’ll be closer to the twelve-week mark, or whatever.”

“Remind me not to spill the beans before she has a chance to, dude, cuz otherwise she’ll have every right to kill me.”

Mo laughs. “I promise, I’ll make sure you keep your mouth shut.” 

Zeke hums. “How exactly are you planning to do that, huh?” 

“If I tell you, it isn’t as fun.”

“You’re a cruel man, Monroe Harris. You’re lucky I’m into that.” Zeke lets out a pleased laugh—it’s Mo’s favorite, because it’s kind of breathy, almost silent. “I’m glad you had a good weekend, Mo. That’s fucking awesome.”

“What about you?” 

Zeke shifts on the other end of the line and distantly, Mo can hear the television droning on. “Not bad. Watched _A Fish Called Wanda_ with the kids, did some grocery shopping, the usual shit.” ‘The kids’ is what Zeke calls their fish, and it never fails to make Mo giggle. “Place is empty without you, man. David’s busy all week so it’s just been me.”

“You could always come back a little early. My parents won’t mind.” 

“Nah, s’okay. Gotta make ‘em miss me first, right?”

“Right,” Mo says with a roll of his eyes. “Not like _I_ miss you, or anything.”

“I miss you too, Mo. Don’t doubt that for a fuckin’ second, okay?” Zeke speaks before Mo can assure him he’s not doubting anything. “I’ve been thinking about you every day. I mean, I pretty much always am anyway, but like, even more, now. I didn’t even think that was possible. And it’s not even shit like how I wish you were here or how I wish I was with you. It’s just like...missing your face, and your smile, and how you leave your boxers all over the bedroom floor.”

Mo hides his face in his arms with a giddy grin. “You’re such a sap, Zeke Presanti.”

There’s the telltale sound of a shrug. “You bring it out in me, Mo. You bring out the best in me.”

Mo bites down on some unnamable noise rising in his throat—glee and delight and sheer elation. “Whatever, Zeke,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “You’re just a big softie.” 

“You got me there, babe.” 

They talk a little longer about inconsequential things—like Zeke’s friend David being too busy to hang lately, and how the fish are doing, and how Mo tried to watch some sports movie with his dad and ended up falling asleep a half hour in. 

“I’m wide awake now, though,” Mo says, a little frustrated. Not that he wants to stop talking to Zeke, far from it, but he knows he’ll be tired come tomorrow morning. He’ll probably end up dozing off during the day again. 

“Yeah?” Zeke asks and suddenly his voice is pitching a little lower. Immediately, a shiver runs through Mo’s body. 

“Yeah,” he parrots, “what about you?” He shifts on the bed from leaning with his back against the wall to lay with his head on his pillows. He leaves the covers off and rests his free hand low on his stomach. 

“Definitely wide awake,” Zeke agrees. “Maybe you’re finally ready to tell me how you plan to keep my mouth shut at the fourth of July?” 

Mo smiles to himself. “What, like I’m gonna drag you into the backyard when my parents aren’t paying attention? Make you get on your knees for me?”

The television, which has been droning quietly the entire phone call, goes silent on the other end of the line. There’s some rustling, followed by the soft sound of a zipper being pulled down. 

“I’d do it,” Zeke breathes, “I’d get on my knees for you in a heartbeat, Mo.” 

“I know you would.” Mo finally slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and curls his hand around the base of his dick. “You’d look so good doing it, too.” 

“Yeah,” Zeke whines slightly. He spits, presumably in his hand, and then Mo can faintly hear the slick sounds of his hand on his dick. He wishes he could see. “Fuck, we’d definitely get caught.”

“We haven’t yet,” Mo murmurs, teasing his hand along his dick slowly. He likes the image: Zeke’s knees in the lush, uncut grass, mouthing along Mo’s cock all eager and needy. “It’d be worth it to try.”

“Fuck yeah it would.” 

Mo listens to Zeke stroke faster and in contrast, Mo strokes himself even slower. He likes listening to Zeke pant for it, wanton and desperate. He likes it when Zeke is so eager to get off that he can’t control himself, just chasing after his orgasm like a dog for a bone. 

“You’d have to suck me off quick, though, before anyone came looking for us. And they would, I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut.”

“Fuck, Mo, your mouth.” Zeke groans on the other end of the line. “Miss your fucking mouth.”

“Miss yours,” Mo gasps softly. “Can’t wait to kiss you again.” 

“Shit, yes, please,” Zeke whines, “missing making out with you, miss feeling you get hard.” 

Mo finally speeds up his own pace and it’s like a dam has burst, his orgasm hurtling toward him faster than he can even think. “Miss your cock inside me,” Mo hiccups, “need you.”

“Fucking _fuck_ ,” Zeke shouts. He goes silent after that, save for his heavy breathing and a final grunt as he finishes coming. Mo listens to it all with his eyes closed to imagine what Zeke looks like, on his silly fucking bean bag chair, hand down his jeans. “Mo, baby, let me hear you, missed that pretty voice of yours so much.”

“Yeah,” he moans before he comes. He just _does_ , because Zeke asked, because he wants to give Zeke anything he asks for, because being away from Zeke has been torture and not being able to touch or taste him has been almost worse. He arches his back and fucks clumsily into his fist as his come spills over his knuckles. 

He’s still catching his breath when he catches Zeke’s murmur of, “Love you, Momo.”

Mo grins. “I love you too, Zeke.”

* * *

Mo’s the first one awake come the morning of fourth of July. It’s been a long couple weeks without seeing Zeke aside from selfies and FaceTime—they haven’t even had time for those two things the last week leading up to this, either. Mo misses his boyfriend’s face, and he knows the feeling is mutual. Mo has enjoyed the mostly uninterrupted time with his family. Every time he’s away for school, he kind of forgets how much he actually _does_ like his parents. He likes hanging out with them, even if his dad won’t stop trying to get him to talk about baseball even though Mo stopped following sports _years_ ago.

Mo has enjoyed the time with his family, but he’s excited to finally see his boyfriend again. Zeke won’t be arriving until closer to lunch time, so that they can hit up the local parade before heading to a barbecue that evening, but Mo couldn’t really sleep if he wanted to, hence being up bright and early. 

He showers, dresses, throws together some toast and eggs for breakfast, and by then it’s half past nine. He pulls out his phone to fire off a text.

**to: zeke  
** _I’m gonna go crazy waiting for you_

The reply is almost immediate. 

**from: zeke  
** _we waited 3 weeks, 3 hours won’t kill you_

**to: zeke  
** _it might!_

All he gets back is a kissy emoji, and Mo can’t help but roll his eyes at that.

“You’re so smiley,” his mom says as she suddenly sweeps into the kitchen. She makes a beeline for the Keurig machine. “You really like him, huh?”

Mo looks up from his phone, keenly aware of his blush. “I do,” he says. 

Sherri smiles at him. “That’s good, honey. I’m happy.”

Mo bites the inside of his cheek before asking, “Why are you so okay with this?” It’s been weighing on his mind, before they ever even showed up for the summer. 

She smiles at him. For a moment, the kitchen is full of nothing but the sounds of the Keurig running, filtering the coffee into his mom’s mug. Eventually, she says, “You always liked him. As long as you were happy with him...I couldn’t be too mad. I didn’t always like it, especially near the end there. But as long as he made you happy, I couldn’t bring myself to put a stop to it.

“Besides,” she continues, “I knew that your father or I trying to stop it wouldn’t do anything. You’d just sneak out to see him, instead, and you’d be gone at ungodly hours, and we wouldn’t know. At least if you had our permission to keep seeing him, we’d know where you were, and that you were mostly safe.”

“Mom…” Something tugs at Mo’s chest. 

“I always thought Zeke wasn’t that bad of a kid. Misguided. He could’ve used some family in his life to set him straight, probably.” Sherri shrugs as she takes her mug from the Keurig and blows at the steam. “Dumb tattoos, getting stoned, getting drunk, it’s not like your dad and I didn’t get up to that sort of thing in high school. And at least we knew Zeke wouldn’t ever let you die.” 

“Jesus, mom.”

“Sorry, honey, but it’s true.” Sherri finally sips at her coffee, slow and careful since it’s hot. “I wouldn’t say I always trusted Zeke, but close to it. For you to be with him now...I can’t say I’m all that surprised, honestly. The same rules still apply—he wouldn’t let you get hurt, and as long as he’s making you happy, that’s enough for me.”

Mo slides from his chair to hug his mom. “Thank you.”

His mom returns the hug immediately, her free hand finding the back of his head and cupping him close. “Of course, sweetie. What’re moms for?” 

Mo laughs. “Can I ask you something else?”

“If you wanna know why your father is okay with it, you should ask him yourself,” she replies, and Mo’s grin turns rueful. She pets his hand one last time before they step apart. “Maybe not first thing in the morning, though.”

* * *

Mo ends up without a chance to talk to his father before Zeke shows up. There are still some last-minute groceries to buy, like hot dog buns and some solo cups. His dad is out shopping and his mom is out with friends when Zeke finally shows up. He’d texted a little while ago to let Mo know he’d be late, because of traffic. 

When Mo finally opens the door to reveal his boyfriend, they have about a half hour before the parade is set to start. That thought promptly leaves his mind, to be replaced with, “What did you do to your hair?” 

Zeke beams. “I dyed it!”

“I can see that,” Mo says as he takes a step back to welcome his boyfriend inside. “You dyed it red.”

“Technically the box said like, auburn, or some shit. It’s not like fire engine red. Right? Or are my eyes fucked too?”

“No, no, it’s…” Mo trails off as he lifts a hand to tousle Zeke’s hair. “It’s nice,” he says, and it is. It’s a darker red, brownish in tone almost. Nothing too crazy or different, and certainly as not a stark of a change as when he went bottle-blond. But Mo knows Zeke’s hair well, and even the slightest change is noticeable. “I like it.”

“I do too,” Zeke says proudly. He drops his bag at their feet and he takes Mo by the waist. “Got bored, you know. Had David help me. Bleaching hurts way worse than I remember, though, fuck that shit.”

Mo snorts. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He uses his hand in Zeke’s hair to tug him down for a kiss, and Zeke goes easily, eagerly. “Missed you,” he says against Zeke’s lips. 

“Missed you more,” Zeke replies before he deepens the kiss.

They need to take Zeke’s bags upstairs, and they need to get a move on to the parade. His parents won’t be _mad_ if they’re late, but they’ll almost certainly tease Mo, and he just doesn’t want to deal with that today. But he doesn’t want to give up kissing Zeke, who he hasn’t kissed in _weeks_. 

Zeke’s hands slide down and cup Mo’s ass. “We gotta get going,” Zeke says despite his hands. 

“I know,” Mo whines, “I don’t want to.” 

Zeke is the first to pull back and Mo is immediately distracted by his kiss-reddened lips. “C’mon, I’ll put my shit away, and we can get to the parade early. Easier to find parking that way.”

“Has a couple weeks apart turned you into the responsible one?” 

Zeke puffs out his chest. “You’re damn right it has.” He tosses Mo the keys to the car. “I’m sick of driving, it’s your turn.”

Mo catches the keys without protest. “What, you want me to go get the AC running in the car or something?”

“You can’t follow me upstairs, dude, we’ll never leave.” Zeke shoots him a grin over his shoulder as he hauls his bags upstairs. “So yeah, go crank the AC. I’ll lock the door behind me.”

Mo pouts, but after a ‘shoo’ gesture from Zeke, he does as he’s told. He wanders out to the car and turns it on. He turns the radio to something softer and almost unnoticeable, cranks the air conditioning, and waits. It doesn’t take long for Zeke to walk out of the house and Mo’s eyes zero in on him instantly. 

Zeke stops long enough to double check that the door is locked and then he’s half-jogging to the car. As soon as he’s out from under the shade of the porch, the red in his hair becomes that much brighter. Mo stifles a gasp by biting his bottom lip, but suddenly he _gets_ it. He gets why Zeke has always mentioned wanting to dye his hair, and he gets why Zeke so pleased when Mo first opened the door.

The red _does_ look good, especially in the direct sunlight. Mo’s still a little gobsmacked when Zeke finally slides into the passenger’s seat.

“Babe, you good?”

Mo leans over the center console to kiss him once, hard, before pulling on his own seatbelt and throwing the car into reverse. “I’m great,” he says. 

Zeke doesn’t question it; he only grins. 

* * *

“They should be this way,” Mo says as he guides Zeke through the crowds. They’re still early enough that it’s not too packed, but it still takes some careful maneuvering to avoid trampling kids or old ladies. Eventually, Mo spots his dad’s shiny bald head, and picks up his pace a bit. Zeke never falters behind him, close on his heels.

“There he is!” His dad exclaims as he spots Mo. He tugs Mo in for a hug and a ruffle of his hair, putting his hand out for Zeke to shake. “Zeke, good to see you again.”

“You too, Reuben, thanks again for letting me stay with you guys.”

Reuben waves off the thanks. Sherri steps in to hug Mo, then gives Zeke an almost-awkward half-hug. Mo watches as Zeke’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate to return the hug. 

“You know I’ve never actually been to one of these?” Zeke says as they all get settled. They have a couple folding chairs to sit on if they feel like it, and a couple blankets in case any of them get cold.

“That’s not true,” Reuben says, “your grandma brought you.” 

Mo and Zeke both look at him with surprise. 

“What?” Zeke asks. 

“I remember,” Reuben says, nodding. “You were...god, you were about this tall.” He puts his hand pretty low to the ground—Zeke couldn’t have been more than six or seven. “Your hair was so long, back then. You wanted to get a better view, but your grandma was worried about you getting on people’s shoulders.” 

Mo’s gaze flicks to Zeke, who’s watching Reuben intently. “I don’t remember that,” Zeke says softly. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Sherri was still pregnant with Mo, I think. Kate was so shy, back then. But I remember you. You were so excited.” 

Zeke swallows. “Well, shit. Guess this can’t be my first time, then.”

Reuben stares at Zeke—Mo watches them both, he can’t stand to look away—and there’s something thoughtful in his expression. “It’s your first time at the parade with your boyfriend, isn’t it? That’s still a first.” 

Zeke laughs, an awkward, uncertain sound. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And you’re here with family,” Reuben says, before quickly turning his attention back to the street even though the parade won’t start for another twenty minutes or so. 

Mo swallows and blinks rapidly, willing himself not to cry. Zeke rubs unsubtly at his eyes and sniffles, loudly. 

“Thanks, Reub,” he says, so quiet Mo almost misses it.

Playfully, his dad replies, “I told you not to call me that.” 

“You got it, sir.” 

Reuben rolls his eyes.

* * *

The parade is pretty cool, although Mo realizes quickly why he stopped wanting to go after he turned thirteen or so. It’s pretty much the same as he remembers: a couple floats, candy being tossed into the audience, everyone lighting sparklers even though it’s still daylight out. It’s fun, but it’s definitely the kind of thing that’s more fun when you’re little, not an adult.

But it’s still nice, especially to be here with his parents and Zeke. Zeke’s arms find their favorite place around Mo’s waist, and they stay like that basically the entire duration of the parade. Every now and then, Reuben leans over and kisses Sherri on the cheek, or ruffles Mo’s hair again, or gives Zeke a smile and a nod. 

By the time the parade is over, Mo is over the moon. Zeke somehow managed to snag a sucker from one of the numerous candy tosses, and is rolling it around in his mouth as they all walk back to their cars. 

“That was dope,” Zeke says around the sucker. 

“It was good,” Mo agrees, “little boring, maybe.”

“It’s better when you’ve got little kids,” Sherri chimes in, almost wistful in her tone. “Mo, you would get so excited over the candy toss and the sparklers. It was so cute.”

“Kate, too. She was shy, but once the candy started getting thrown around, she was unstoppable.” Reuben shakes his head fondly. “There’s just something special about kids, you know?” 

Mo watches his parents grin at one another and chances a look at Zeke. Zeke’s watching them too, with an unreadable expression on his face. Zeke is pretty expressive, so for Mo not to immediately have a read on what his boyfriend is thinking...it’s a little odd. Not bad, just strange. 

“Hey,” Zeke says as he looks away from Mo’s parents and starts to fish for his keys, “you know what I just realized?”

“That I have your keys, because I drove us here?” Mo teases. He dangles the key ring off one finger.

Zeke rolls his eyes. “Sure, that, but also...I don’t think I’ve ever seen baby pics of Momo.”

Sherri gasps behind them. “Oh my god, I think you’re right.” 

“Well, we should probably fix that as soon as we can, right?” Reuben says.

Mo groans. “Nope, we’re never going back to the house. We’ll just sleep on the porch forever.” 

“C’mon, babe, I bet you were an adorable fucking kid.”

“Oh, Mo was the cutest!” Sherri gushes, and Mo can only groan again.

* * *

The barbecue is being held in the park, and Mo and Zeke end up beating his parents there. 

“Remember,” Zeke murmurs as they wander into the park, “don’t let me spoil the surprise.”

“Kate said she was going to tell them as soon as her and Eric get here, so you don’t gotta last long.”

“My specialty,” Zeke replies with a laugh. 

“What’s your specialty?” Reuben asks.

Zeke startles and actually trips over his own feet. Mo whips around to look at his dad. “Jesus, dad, don’t give him a heart attack.”

Reuben grins and holds up his hands. “My bad.”

“Is Kate here yet?” Mo asks, looking behind his dad to see his mom already chatting with one of their neighbors. 

“Not yet. Is that what your specialty is, Zeke? Dating Harris children?”

Zeke chokes on his laugh. “I guess you could say that, sure.” 

Reuben claps him on the shoulder before moving past him. He’s heading toward the grill, no doubt to talk with some of the other dads. 

“You good?” Mo asks Zeke.

“I’m great, but I’m _definitely_ gonna spill the beans if Kate doesn’t hurry the fuck up.”

Mo rolls his eyes. “C’mon, lets go, I dunno, play on the monkey bars.”

Zeke complains, “I’m too tall for those,” but he follows Mo nonetheless. 

He is in fact too tall for them—he can reach up without issue and wrap his hands around the highest bar. He lifts himself up slightly, with a grunt of effort, and does a couple chin ups before he drops back onto his feet. Mo can reach too, for the most part. The monkey bars span across about ten feet and get higher the closer to the middle you are; Mo can’t quite reach the highest bars. 

Until Zeke scoops him up around the waist and lifts him into the air, at least. Mo lets out a shriek of delight and grabs onto the bars. It’s a near miss of his face slamming against the bars too, but they manage. Zeke lets go of his waist and watches Mo hang there, swinging slightly. 

Mo’s aware of Zeke’s eyes on him, weirdly focused, but he doesn’t comment on it. Mo simply swings himself forward and back, forward and back, until he can secure his legs around Zeke’s hips. He locks his legs around Zeke’s waist and his boyfriend stumbles closer.

“This is _almost_ obscene,” Zeke points out.

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Presanti.” Mo drops one hand from the bars to curl it around Zeke’s shoulders, then the other, and Zeke supports him with two hands under his ass. 

“You love it.” 

Mo laughs and kisses Zeke. They’re still kissing when a familiar voice calls out, “Ugh, get a room!” It has them both pulling back laughing—even Zeke, even though it’s Kate who yelled at them, and it’s Kate who is approaching them. She’s smiling, at least, which Mo takes as a good sign. 

Zeke drops Mo to the ground carefully and Mo immediately goes to his sister for a hug. It’s still too early in the pregnancy for her to be showing, but Mo could swear there’s a definite glow about her. 

“Hey,” he says, belatedly. “Where’s Eric?”

“Dad’s helping him unload the car. We brought extra blankets and chairs.” Her eyes slide from Mo to Zeke. “I figure he already knows?”

Mo scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he drags the word out, “I told him.”

“Congrats,” Zeke says. “That’s fucking awesome. Mo says Eric is great.”

Kate’s face, which had slipped into a harder, neutral expression, returns to the soft smile from before. “He is, I think you might even like him.” 

“Let’s not get crazy, but hey, I’ll give it a try.”

Kate nods. “C’mon, I want to tell mom and dad soon.” 

“Thank fuck, cuz I wasn’t sure how long I could keep my mouth shut.”

Kate laughs. “I’m not even surprised. I was sure mom and dad would just, like, sniff it out as soon as Mo knew.”

“I haven’t told a soul, except for Zeke!”

“Mo, it’s fine. I figured you’d tell him. But seriously, c’mon. Oh, and have your camera ready, I want to record their reactions.”

Mo grabs his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, and Zeke does the same. At Mo’s raised eyebrow, Zeke says, “Multiple angles, duh.”

“Duh,” Mo says, “of course.” 

Kate rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything to either of them. She goes for their mom first, hugging her. They both turn to watch as Eric and Reuben drop the last of their stuff in the little area they’ve claimed. There’s probably more blankets and chairs than they really need, but that’s alright.

Kate looks over her shoulder at Mo, and he surreptitiously raises his phone. Zeke wanders over to the pile of blankets and picks one out—one big enough to fit him and Mo—and uses it to hide his phone as he faces Kate, Reuben, and Sherri once more. 

“Good to have you here, Kate,” Reuben says. He puts his arm around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “You too, Eric, of course.” 

“Thanks, Reub.”

Mo glances at Zeke to see him stifling a snort.

“So, mom, dad, Eric and I had some news.” 

Mo double checks that he’s already hit ‘record,’ and is glad he did because immediately his mom’s expression splits into one of bewildered delight. 

“Oh,” Sherri says. Reuben still looks confused. 

Kate slips out from under Reuben’s arm and goes to Eric, tucked against his side and with a hand over his heart. “We’re pregnant,” she says, grinning wide.

“Oh my god,” Reuben murmurs. Mo’s not even sure his camera will have caught the audio, but it doesn’t really matter. After that, it’s like an explosion of movement. Reuben darts forward to hug Kate and lifts her into the air, twirling her. Eric, meanwhile, hugs Sherri while she dabs at her own eyes.

Mo and Zeke keep filming until Reuben finally says, “You little shits, you already knew, didn’t you?” 

Mo stops recording and pockets his phone. “Yeah, she told me first.” 

“And Mo told me,” Zeke adds. 

“How far along?” Reuben asks Kate.

“Eleven weeks,” she says, a hand falling to her stomach. “I told Mo the same day I took the at home test. I’ve got an appointment next week for an ultrasound.”

“You didn’t even mention you guys were trying!” Sherri says. “I can’t believe this. We were _just_ talking about how great kids are.”

“Really?” Kate glances at Mo.

“Fourth of July parades aren’t as fun when you’re in your twenties,” Mo replies. 

Zeke nods, and supplies, “Plus, our kids are fish, so I don’t think they’d like it as much as like, y’know, human children.”

Reuben actually laughs and shakes his head. “No, probably not.”

* * *

Mo seeks out his dad as he’s grilling; Zeke is across the park with _Eric_ of all people. Kate was right, they do get along, almost freakishly well. Something about movies and camera angles and in all honesty, Mo kind of zoned out after the fifth or sixth mention of Christopher Nolan.

“What’s up, Mo?” his dad asks as he flips a burger.

“I had a question,” Mo asks, thinking back to his conversation with his mom that morning. “How are you…so chill with this?” He gestures in Zeke’s direction, which turns into a wave when Zeke catches him pointing. Zeke waves back but doesn’t wander over.

“It’s like I said that first night, I have no reason to think Zeke is incapable of change. You said he’s changed, and you’ve grown a lot since high school. Do I think Zeke maybe took unnecessarily long growing up? Sure. Doesn’t mean he didn’t still get there in the end.” Reuben shrugs and turns a couple dogs on the grill.

“I really thought you might punch him, when we first showed up.”

“Didn’t even cross my mind. Not when I saw you smile at him.”

“Were you spying on us through the peephole?”

Reuben scoffs. “Of course I was.”

Mo snorts and bumps his shoulder against his dad’s. “Really, though?”

“Really,” Reuben confirms with a nod. “You smiled at him…it was different than I’ve ever seen you smile. Even back when you knew him before, you didn’t look at him that way. I’ve never seen you look at _anyone_ that way.”

Mo’s cheeks are flushed, but he tells himself it’s just from the heat of the grill. “Jeez, dad.”

Reuben smiles at him. “He knows what’ll happen if he screws this up, but I don’t think he will.” His dad raises the tongues, greasy with fat from the meat on the grill, “Don’t break his heart either, alright, Monroe?”

Mo blinks in surprise. “Yeah, dad. Of course.”

Reuben pats his shoulder with his free hand. “No go save Zeke from Eric.”

Mo looks over to find Eric exchanging a look with Kate and Zeke clearly knee-deep in one of his rants about some movie or other. “I think it’s more like saving Eric from Zeke.”

* * *

Later, when it’s finally dark and they’re all fed and the fireworks are about to start, Mo finds himself on the blanket with Zeke. He leans against his boyfriend, already a little tired even though they still have another hour or two before they’ll head home.

“We don’t gotta watch the fireworks here. We could go climb on your roof or some shit.”

“Oh yeah,” Mo says, words muffled against Zeke’s shoulder, “falling asleep on my roof is way safer than this.” 

Zeke snickers. “I’d carry you to safety.”

“I know you would. You’ve done it before.”

The mention of their past brings a hush over the conversation. Mo feels bad, but he also remembers how grateful he was when Zeke pulled him out of that pool. He was dazed and disoriented, and being hoisted into a fireman’s carry didn’t _help_ , but Zeke did get them away safely. Even if it hadn’t mattered in the end, since Mo still got expelled—Zeke was still a hero, then. Mo has no doubts he’d be a hero again, if needed. 

Zeke asks, “Did Kate look like she thought you and I were like, thinking of having kids? Or did I totally misread her face?”

“Oh, no, that’s _definitely_ what she thought,” Mo agrees. The look on Kate’s face is kind of seared into his mind, in all honesty. The fact that his sister didn’t immediately protest at the idea of them having kids...It does something funny in Mo’s chest. Like assurance, like confirmation that he’s on the right track. Not something he needed, but something he’s glad to have anyway. “That’d be crazy,” he says eventually. 

“Fuck yeah it would. We’ve only been dating a year.” Zeke says it with a half-laugh, half-scoff. Like the idea is ludicrous. And maybe it is, for some reasons, but least of all because he and Zeke have only been dating for a little while. 

So Mo shrugs at that. “We don’t have the space, or the income, and I don’t think I’m ready to be a dad.” He ticks off the reasons with his fingers before dropping his hands back into his lap. “Only been dating a year is, like, the least of our reasons not to have kids.” He looks up at Zeke, who’s looking out at the park. “I wouldn’t say no to having kids with you at some point, in the future. The semi distant future.”

Zeke’s eyebrows arch for a second. “Huh.”

“What, you thought I wouldn’t wanna like, adopt kids with you?”

“We haven’t really talked about that,” Zeke points out. “I knew it would come up eventually, but...I mean, I thought about it, obviously.”

“And…?” Mo realizes how abruptly and how badly he wants to know Zeke’s feelings on the matter. It’s totally possible that Zeke might never want kids: he didn’t have the most fantastic homelife growing up, and he clearly has a whole host of issues to deal with (so does Mo, frankly). And it wouldn’t be a dealbreaker, because Mo loves Zeke too much for that, but...

Zeke saves him from his spiraling thoughts. “I wanna like, adopt kids or whatever, too. With you. In the _distant_ future. No way in hell am I ready for that, yet.”

Mo laughs and rests his head on Zeke’s shoulder again. “You’d be a good dad, though.”

“You really think so?” 

“Definitely.”

Zeke presses his smile to Mo’s hair. “You too, Mo. You’d be a great dad.”

“Glad we’re in agreement that we’d be kick-ass parents,” Mo says around a yawn. “And glad we’re in agreement that that’s a _long_ ways away.”

“Yeah.” 

“Fireworks are starting!” Someone yells across the park. Mo sits up a little straighter and Zeke’s arm around his shoulders falls to his waist instead. They both tip their heads back to the sky, angled in the direction of the field where a couple guys are lighting off the annual fireworks show.

“Hey Mo?” Zeke asks after the first firework explodes in the sky. It’s a half dozen bursts of green, scattering out to disappear amongst the inky blue-black.

“Yeah?” Mo’s heartbeat kicks up a notch at Zeke’s voice. In all fairness, his heart _always_ kind of skips a beat when it comes to Zeke, but this time is different. It’s like his heart knows something’s coming, even if his brain hasn’t entirely caught up yet. 

“So, we covered our feelings on kids, yeah?”

Mo nods. “Right.” The next fireworks are blue, and then red. 

Green explodes again, just as Mo looks over at Zeke’s face. He says, “What about marriage?” without looking at Mo. 

“What?” 

“Marriage,” Zeke says again as dazzling yellow fills the sky. The pace picks up after that—more fireworks, more colors, taking over the sky and making light dance across Zeke’s face. As Zeke speaks, his tone is carefully cool, calm, like this isn’t some big deal. Mo would hate him for the aloofness if it wasn’t so entirely _Zeke_ to be utterly chill when discussing marriage. “Like, you and me. Gettin’ hitched.”

Mo’s lungs burn and he realizes he’s forgotten to breathe. “Oh,” he gasps. He feels dizzy and the colors bursting above their heads aren’t helping. “Yeah, I’d, I’d like that,” he finally manages to say. It’s a no-brainer, really. 

When Mo was twelve and didn’t really understand what being _queer_ meant, there was a time he thought he’d marry Zeke. Zeke and Kate had broken up, and Zeke was taking Mo to hang out every other night. And Mo...Mo didn’t even question it, back then. He just sort of _knew_ he’d marry Zeke, one day. Especially when all the movies and his parents and Kate would always tell him, “you should marry your best friend.” 

So yeah, of course Mo would— _will_ —marry Zeke. 

“Really?” Zeke finally looks at Mo, a hopeful grin on his face. 

“Of course, you doofus.” Mo’s smiling too. So much that his cheeks are starting to hurt. 

“It’s only been a year,” Zeke says, like he’s trying to talk Mo out of it. It’s so funny, because Mo can’t remember the last time Zeke tried to talk him _out_ of something, and not _into_ something. He’s better at talking Mo into things, Mo thinks, since this attempt is pretty feeble. 

“I’ve loved you for a lot longer than that,” Mo admits under the crackle of another firework. 

“Same. I mean. You too. Yeah.” Zeke blinks. “We don’t have to get married right now, but…”

But Mo kind of wants to, which he knows is a little crazy. They’ve known each other for over a decade but there’s still a long way to go before marriage is probably the _smart_ option. Mo knows that, and he’s gratified to see Zeke’s thinking it too. 

“In the future,” Mo supplies, “the _not-so-distant_ future.”

Zeke nods. “Yeah,” he kisses Mo. although it’s clumsy since neither of them will stop smiling, “yeah, exactly.” 

Mo cups Zeke’s cheek. “Who’s gonna ask who, though?” 

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, huh?” Zeke’s eyes sparkle under the explosions of red, white, and blue.

Mo kisses him again and whispers, “Guess we will.” 


End file.
